


Dreams of Shadows: FFXIV Write 2019

by LynMars79



Series: Aeryn Striker [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Heavensward, Specific Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Stormblood, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2019, a realm reborn, prompts, shadowbringers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2020-10-09 04:37:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 22,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynMars79/pseuds/LynMars79
Summary: Daily word prompts and quick writing for them, of varying length, subject, point in the timeline, and polishing. Shadowbringers Spoilers abound.





	1. Table of Contents

30 day prompts, mostly unedited and written on short deadline, for the 2019 FFXIV Write. Mostly focused on Aeryn Striker and mostly on 5.0 Shadowbringers, with a few earlier escapades mixed in.

1\. Voracious - Aeryn in a mage research frenzy. Shadowbringers.

2\. Bargain - Aeryn and Urianger in the Tempest. Shadowbringers.

3\. Lost - A keepsake, among other things, is missing. Heavensward.

4\. Shifting Blame - Filched cupcakes are serious business. Shadowbringers.

5\. Vault - Aeryn hates that place; Kan-E and Nanamo don’t know why. Heavensward.

6\. First Steps - How the friendship between Aeryn and another Scion began. A Realm Reborn.

7\. Forgiven - Aeryn and Ardbert post-Amaurot DMV scene. Shadowbringers.

8\. Forgiven II - Extra Credit entry - Aeryn and the Exarch post-Amaurot. Shadowbringers.

9\. Hesitate - Alisaie prods Aeryn to talk about Feelings with someone. Shadowbringers.

10\. Foster - Aeryn and her stepfather many years ago. Pre-canon.

11\. Snuff - Thoughts on Mt Gulg/Crown. Shadowbringers.

12\. Fingers Crossed - Il Mheg Fate shenanigans with a friend. Shadowbringers.

13\. Wax - a small gift grants a sense of belonging. A Realm Reborn.

14\. Scour - Thoughts on the Empty. Shadowbringers.

15\. Memoirs of Adventure - Extra Credit entry, Creative Writing contest.

16\. Jitter - Snarking with Nero in Sigmascape. Stormblood.

17\. Obeisant - Letter on a crisis of faith. Shadowbringers.

18\. Wilt - Thancred POV, post-Crown. Shadowbringers.

19\. Radiant - Thancred POV, post-Praetorium. A Realm Reborn.

20\. Bisect - Lahabrea POV, the confrontation and twist. Heavensward.

21\. Crunch - Aeryn and the role quest NPCs go hunting. Shadowbringers.

22\. Responsibility - Extra Credit entry - Ascians after the 13th fell. Pre-canon.

23\. Parched - Rak’tika banter. Shadowbringers.

24\. Unctuous - A noble party, and a certain firebug bugs Aeryn. Heavensward.

25\. Trust - Aeryn and Estinien contemplating the Aery. Heavensward.

26\. Slosh - Alphinaud confronts a fear as the Scions arrive in Amaurot. Shadowbringers.

27\. Palaver - About conversations with Ascians in Rak’tika. Shadowbringers.

28\. Attune - X’rhun and Aeryn at the lichyard post-Waking Sands attack. A Realm Reborn.

29\. Trust II - Extra Credit Entry - Captain Lyna’s 2nd person PoV. Shadowbringers.

30\. Darkness - A meditation. Shadowbringers.


	2. Table of Contents

“What _is_ all of this?” Ryne asked, blinking at the reams of paper, bottles of ink, stacks of pens, and various books scattered and stacked across the room already. It made her hug the volumes she carried closer to her chest.

“This,” Thancred said dryly. “Is what we call research phase. She’s in here somewh--Ah.”

The top of Aeryn’s head peeked over the table. “Oh, are those the copies from Il Mheg? Can you put them...um…” She shifted to her knees and looked around the room, blinking. “There, on that chair.” She pointed to a chair stacked with books near the window.

Ryne hesitated, but Thancred gestured for her to go on as he walked around the table. Ryne crossed the room, careful of a few scattered scrolls, to deposit the books as requested. Outside the open window, sunlight gleamed over other buildings of the Crystarium, before reflecting off the lake and dappling the forests of Lakeland. It was a lovely view, though today it seemed utterly wasted on the room’s occupant.

Thancred meanwhile crouched next to Aeryn. “When you requested tomes from the Bookman’s Shelves for cross reference, I thought perhaps you were in the middle of one of your frenzies.”

“This is _not_ a frenzy,” Aeryn protested. “I have a method to my research, there’s just...a lot to go through. Even considering how much was lost to the Flood--if anything, it makes seeking what knowledge remains all the more difficult, and so I have to check everything that might apply.”

Ryne blinked. Was Aeryn, of all people, _rambling_?

Thancred’s expression remained neutral. “And how long have you been at it?”

Aeryn side-eyed him as she turned another page. “...Not that long…”

His eyes narrowed as he kept watching her.

“...A few bells. I think. Actually, what time is it?”

Before Ryne could answer (it was half-past four in the afternoon, according to the chronometer ticking on the bedside table), Thancred had snagged Aeryn’s arm. “That’s what I thought,” he said. He deftly caught the book she was about to drop in his other hand and set it on the table as he pulled her to her feet. “I’m under strict instructions from Urianger to be sure you take a break. Meaning an _actual meal_, not whatever you’ve been snacking on when you happen to wander near it.”

Aeryn managed to look pouty as she realized she was not getting loose. “But I feel like I’m so close to finding out if a similar discipline to Red Magic was used here on the First and if I can figure out how they combined Black and White Magics and take it back to the Source to show X’rhun and Arya--”

“Later,” Thancred said, leading her to the door. He glanced at Ryne and gestured with his head for her to follow. “For now, time to eat.”

“...I guess I am a bit hungry,” the esteemed Warrior of Darkness admitted in defeat as she allowed herself to be drug from her room by a man who had spent far too many years among fellow scholars to allow her an excuse.

Ryne smiled as she skipped along behind them. If Aeryn was in a rare chatty mood thanks to...whatever she was researching, maybe she would tell stories as they ate, and it would be part of the distraction and giving her a break.

Ryne made sure the door latched closed behind them, hiding the messy effects of an eager mage.


	3. Prompt 2: Bargain

The cool dark of the Tempest floor was welcome after the returned, blinding Light above. The air tasted of brine and a lifted weight, damp fronds and tendrils of the local flora tentatively waving in the mostly-still air. The ground was by turns slick and a mire easy to lose one’s boots in, even for one who favored tall footwear such as herself.

Aeryn had pulled her boots free of yet another deceptive puddle when she caught a glimpse of a familiar tall, dark-robed figure hesitate, then turn away, toward yet another rock formation that was probably another cave probably filled with more of those vicious crabs.

Well she couldn’t allow him to go in there alone, now could she?

“Urianger, wait,” she called, her voice swallowed by the thirsty reefs of coral and anemone. Everything felt so...thick, down here, where Bismark’s breath filled the dome.

Still, he paused, if reluctantly. He looked over his shoulder, his silver hair obscuring most of his face. “I merely wish to glance inside yonder cavern, to ensure it doth not lead to the paths we seek.”

“All the more reason for accompaniment. Unless you’re still avoiding me.”

He frowned, but it kept him still long enough for her to meet him. “I mean no offense,” he said quietly.

“But you still feel guilty.” Aeryn walked past him, certain he would follow her into the cave.

A moment later, she heard his quiet footfalls behind her. “Indeed. Once again, my scheming hath endangered those dear to me, and though all say I am forgiven for my previous deceptions, I doubt a second time shall be allowed.”

“If anything, you were the Exarch’s accomplice. ‘Twas his plan, you simply agreed to go along with it, once he’d impressed upon you his sincerity.”

He was quiet for a long moment as they made their way along a narrow ledge. The cavern seemed to be winding up, rather than down, she thought.

“My plots with the Emissary, the Warriors of Light--those whom we knew in the Source as the Warriors of Darkness, and the Word of the Mother--our dearest Minfilia, are what led to the Exarch’s necessity from the start.”

“He’s still hung up about that, is he?” Ardbert said, from just in front of her. “The cavern tapers off a few more yalms ahead. You won’t find anything useful in here. But at least there aren’t any crabs.”

She nodded in response to her ghost, wondering if Urianger could even see it in the gloom. If he did, he might think it a response to him. Still Aeryn kept pressing forward, feeling Ardbert’s quizzical gaze.

“’One life for one world,’” Aeryn repeated. “It sounds like a bargain, on the surface--but it’s never so easy, is it? We’re still paying off the cost of that deal.”

“There is naught I can do to make up for the loss of Minfilia, nor the suffering of those others who bore her name,” Urianger said. “Would there were a way to beg those heroes of eld forgiveness as well, for breaking mine promise to help them save their world.”

“Oh my wordy friend,” Ardbert murmured, shaking his head as he listened.

Before Urianger could continue, Aeryn turned abruptly, blocking his path. He stopped just short of running into her, blinking down. “I’m fairly certain those Warriors are grateful that this remnant of their world was given another hundred years of life,” she said, catching Ardbert’s nod from the corner of her eye. “That there’s a slim chance of hope, even now.”

Urianger looked about to respond, but she held up a finger.

She should have worn full gloves, not her usual fingerless ones; she could see how stiff and pale her skin looked, the iridescence in her veins making her edges glow.

There wasn’t much time left. She had to make sure he understood this. _Just in case_.

“You know Thancred forgave you long ago. Minfilia made her own choice--then, and in Nabaath Areng. She could never turn away a call for aid. And neither can I.”

“My friend--”

“Everything you did was in service to life, to saving this world, and ours. To saving _us_.”

“Yet secrecy hath led to this,” he said, eyes lingering on her brittle, whitened hair. “I should have found another way.”

Aeryn shrugged. “Perhaps. But we’re working on limited information and time. It’s not your fault I can’t hold this Light--nor what the Exarch chose to keep secret, nor Emet-Selch’s treachery. We all knew _that_ was coming, and _should_ have been better prepared.”

Urianger let out a huff of agreement at that. “As thou sayest. I meant what I said ere we descended into these depths: I shall walk with thee unto the very end, and make up for my failings by staying at thy side.”

Aeryn sighed. “And I told you, before we came down here: there is nothing to forgive, Urianger. I said before that I trust you. I still do. Even if your methods are questionable, I have no doubts as to your heart.”

For the first time since she had caught up to him outside, he looked straight at her. His amber eyes met her (too pale, too shiny) grey ones, and he nodded. “As thou sayest,” he repeated.

“Now promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“...When all is said and done--_however_ it turns out--you’ll forgive yourself. You’ll stop carrying this burden; Scions already have more than enough.”

“I...” He hesitated, but she refused to let him look away. Finally he nodded. “I shall try,” Urianger whispered, voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. “If that is thy wish.”

“It is,” Aeryn answered, and smiled. “Thank you, my friend.”

Behind her, Ardbert let out a breath he didn’t need to hold.

Aeryn took and released a deep breath of her own. “I think this cavern’s a bust, so far as finding our quarry. Let’s see if the others have had better luck.”

Urianger nodded, and stood aside to allow her to lead the way out as well, quickly falling into place, ever at her side and half a step behind.


	4. Prompt 3: Lost

She had looked everywhere.

Aeryn upended her pack (again, there was nothing in it), feeling through every pouch and crease. She turned out all of her pockets, and all of her pouches. She even checked her scabbard.

She slid to the floor of the Intercessory--the “Falling Snows” as Haurchefant had called it--and covered her mouth with a hand to hide her sobs.

_It’s just an old toy_, she tried to remind herself. _Just a little tin knight; we lost the rest of the set, and the dragon they had fought, long ago..._

Her chest squeezed painfully and she hiccuped back a sob, trying not to let anyone hear.

The knights had been Zaine’s favorites when they were children. He had names and personalities for each of them, and sent them on grand adventures through the house and yard, often staging elaborate productions for Aeryn’s amusement--if he was putting on a show for her toddler self, she wasn’t trying to grab at them so much, risking damage to his beloved toys.

Sometimes the knights were friends with the dragon, instead of fighting it, until Papa had explained why that was Bad. Aeryn recalled being sad the dragon and knights couldn’t be friends anymore, after that talk. She had been too young to really understand, though Zaine had looked pensive after.

Most of the toy knights, and their dragon, were lost with the rest of their home when the _real_ dragons attacked. Zaine had found only the one, scorched and slightly melted, before they had to leave. He kept it with him all through the journey from Coerthas, leaving Eorzea.

Aeryn had often seen him holding the old toy, looking smaller and smaller in his hand as time passed, whenever something happened to draw out that same, pensive look on his face. Or when he was sad, or simply missing their father and old life, that he remembered better than she did.

He always had it with him, until the day he left.

_She stood at the dock, eyes hot with tears she tried not to let fall. “I want to go with you.”_

_“Not yet,” he said, his own voice thick. “We made a deal with Mama. Soon enough, you’ll be done with your studies and can join me.”_

_“I could study in Eorzea,” she countered. “She’s being unreasonable.”_

_Zaine laughed, but there was no joy in it. “Mayhap, but so are we, according to her.” He held out his hand. In his large palm was the tiny tin knight. “Do me a favor, and keep this for me. Give him back when we meet again.”_

_“This is stupid,” she muttered, even as she accepted the old toy, clutching him tightly._

_“You’re stupid,” Zaine countered automatically, leaning in to give her a hug and kiss her forehead. “You’ll meet me in Eorzea before we know it.”_

Life rarely goes as planned. Mother was soon unable to hide how sick she really was, the reason she hadn’t wanted to let either of her children leave and had clung so tightly to Aeryn while Zaine had refused to be manipulated into staying.

After a couple years of beating her head against a wall, Aeryn had to give up her magic studies to care for her mother.

The Calamity happened. Her brother’s letters stopped coming. People stopped speaking about him, or mentioning his name. At first, Aeryn thought they were trying not to upset Mother.

They had forgotten. Aeryn hadn’t even realized _she_ had forgotten his name until after the battle in the Praetorium. Then it all came back in a rush of light.

Along with the knowledge, bone deep, that she was never going to find him. Never going to see him again.

The Crystal did not answer why.

She had carried the little tin knight back to Eorzea with her, usually kept on her person, and what foolishness that now turned out to be. Everything was so jumbled after that godsawful night in Ul’dah. The other Scions. Nanamo. Raubahn. The Rising Stones.

Her last memento of her brother.

_You’re acting like a child_, she scolded herself, still unable to stop her crying. After all, hadn’t she come home in the end?

Outside, the wintry winds keened in response, while knights watched out for dragons.

* * *

The Rising Stones were in shambles, but nothing seemed to be too damaged. There was a constant hum of talk, stories swapped as those who had slipped the Braves’ net reunited with those who had been held captive. Alphinaud was sharing stories of their time in Ishgard. There were even jokes and some laughter.

“Aeryn,” Riol’s voice, getting her attention as she straightened one of the knocked over tables.

She paused and smiled at him. Like the others, he was no longer wearing the blue coat of the Crystal Braves, returning to his familiar, comfortable Limsan style.

He smiled back, and hesitated. “So while cleanin’ up, I found somethin’. I think it might be yours? I asked the Doman children, thinkin’ it one of their toys, but Koharu said different…”

He held out his hand, and Aeryn gasped. The little tin knight lay in his palm. There were new scuffs on the battered bit of metal, but there was no mistaking it.

“Thank you,” she said, taking it back. She felt the sting in her eyes and looked away. “I thought it gone forever.”

She felt more than saw his own smile. “I ain’t ‘bout to press, so, you’re welcome,” he said. “If only our other friends were so easy to find as steppin’ on the right spot,” he joked.

Aeryn chuckled. “We’ll find them somehow,” she replied. The tin knight was warm from being held in Riol’s hand. _If this little fellow came back to me, the others will too._

_Thank you, Zaine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt lends itself well to angst, but I couldn't let it end there.


	5. Prompt 4: Shifting Blame

“It was Ruby,” the little miqo’te girl said solemnly.

“Really?” F’lhaminn replied, looking down, arms crossed. “I didn’t know carbuncles liked chocolate cupcakes.”

The child’s eyes shifted away from F’lhaminn. “Um. Little known fact ‘bout carbuncles? Chocolate’s good for magic, Miss Alisaie told me so.”

F’lhaminn felt the corner of her mouth twitch upward. “I’m sure she did. Did she also teach you how to sneak cupcakes needing to cool?”

Small shoulders sagged. “...Maybe,” the girl mumbled.

“Miss Polaali, I am going to have to have a talk with your mother,” F’lhaminn said, shaking her head. “While Mistress Alisaie is a lovely example for a great many things, cupcake theft is not one of them.”

“Oh that wasn’t Alisaie,” a familiar voice said. F’lhaminn’s ear flicked toward the sound, noting the bubbling laughter under the surface. She turned to regard Aeryn Striker with an upraised eyebrow and an attempt to look as stern as possible. She noted Arya hovering not too far away, unwilling to get involved herself just yet; given their tousled appearances, she and Aeryn must have recently completed the day’s training.

Aeryn only smiled. “And really, it’s not fair to blame Alisaie for teaching Rhesh’s daughter bad habits, when that maaaay have been my doing.”

“Yours?”

Aeryn nodded. “The children were asking about adventuring life--they always do--and we got to talking about food, and...well, stories have a way of getting out of hand. Didn’t think some of the ones about dire straits and desperate situations would be quite so...inspiring.”

F’lhaminn pinched her nose. “Gods save me from bards and their embellishments,” she muttered. She sighed. “Still, we’re going to have to speak with Rhesh. But now I can tell her who to blame for being a poor influence on her child. Come along, little one.”

Aeryn and Arya watched the two miqo’te leave. “You really didn’t teach her it was all right to steal cupcakes,” Arya said.

“Of course not, but it wasn’t fair to see Alisaie take the blame when she can’t exactly defend herself, being still in the First. Nor is Yozan still here to admit to it--though I wouldn’t put it past F’lhaminn to write a stern letter to Doma. And then have me deliver it.”

“That’s what you get for being able to teleport directly to their aetheryte while incurring F’lhaminn’s wrath,” Arya laughed. She shook her head. “Shall we continue our errands?”

Aeryn nodded. “...Let’s add a stop to the bakery on our list. Now I want cupcakes.”


	6. Prompt 5: Vault

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Nanamo sighed as they gazed up at the building. The sunset rays made the entire facade glow a beautiful golden rose color.

“Rather a romantic light on it,” Kan-E agreed.

“I wish it would burn down,” Aeryn said.

The Sultana and Seedseer turned to blink at her.

“Isn’t...isn’t this the seat of Ishgard governance?” Kan-E asked delicately.

“That’s one reason,” Aeryn said. “Nothing good’s happened in there for a long while.”

She turned and walked away, not returning to the crowds gathered for the ceremonies and speeches. Kan-E noticed the larger white dragon, Vidofnir, was watching the Warrior of Light stride away, before the ancient being’s attention was caught by some very brave and excited children from the Brume who had managed to get past the knights. No one seemed to mind, least of all Vidofnir herself.

The local elements were cold and whispered darkly of the beautiful building when Kan-E paused to listen. She shut them out again quickly.

Nanamo’s attention was back on the Vault’s brilliant edifice, a quizzical look on her face. “Not the response I expected from our friend,” she said. “I wonder if Alphinaud would enlighten us.”

“Likely,” Kan-E replied. “But I feel perhaps this is one time we shouldn’t ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thursdays are busy so it's short and unimaginative. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	7. Prompt 6: First Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The start of a friendship, and an idea I’ve noodled about for awhile.

“Watch where yer goin’!” A rough, masculine voice shouted as Aeryn rounded the corner leading to the archers’ guild.

“Maybe you ought to watch where you’re going!” A small Highlander woman countered, hands on her hips, glowering at him through the mask she wore.

Aeryn paused to watch the scene. She recognized the woman as Yda, one of the Sharlayan scholars who had come to Aeryn’s aid twice now, their own studies intersecting with her investigations into the strangeness affecting the Shroud.

Yda had moved between an angry looking Wildwood fellow and a Duskwight child that was on the ground, trying not to cry. “I saw you,” Yda said. “You knocked this girl over--going to try to accuse her of pickpocketing, I bet!”

“The brat should learn to step aside. Like you, outsider.” The taller man leaned forward, trying to intimidate Yda.

“That’s a bad idea,” Aeryn spoke up as she stepped forward, kneeling by the sniffling child. “I’ve seen Yda fight--and the Wailers will take her word on anything that happens.” She then turned toward the girl and smiled as she got out her canteen and a handkerchief. “Let’s clean that scraped knee, honey, it’ll feel better.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Yda’s stance shift subtly, ready to strike. Perhaps the Wildwood saw it too, or perhaps he just realized he was outnumbered by two adventurers. He stalked away, growling and grumbling.

Yda relaxed. “Whew! Well that was something.” She turned and looked down at Aeryn and the child. “I had that, but thanks for the help. She all right?”

Aeryn nodded, helping the child to her feet. “Thank you,” the little girl said shyly. “I wasn’t trying to steal nothing. Mama sent me on errands and…” she wiped her face as she sniffled again.

“Did you need help finishing your errands?” Aeryn asked.

The girl shook her head. “No, I’m fine now. Thanks again!” She smiled up at both the hyurs and waved a little, before hurrying off.

“She’ll be all right,” Yda said as they watched. “Just can’t stand the way some people bully others. It can be especially bad here for Duskwights and Keepers.”

“I’ve noticed,” Aeryn said. She looked around. “On your own today?”

“Oh! I guess you’ve only ever seen me with Papalymo. He’s consulting Brother E-Sumi-Yan at the Conjurers’ Guild, but I got bored when they started going into arcane theory.”

“Kicked you out, did they?” Aeryn asked dryly.

“No! Well. Maybe. Sort of.” Yda grinned. “I was apparently getting on their nerves, completely not on purpose, I swear.”

Aeryn laughed. “Sure. So wandering the city searching for people to save?”

Yda shrugged. “I like walking through Gridania; it’s like walking in the forest, with all the conveniences handy. Still has some dangers, though. Saving someone’s just a bonus. How ‘bout yourself? Any exciting new adventures?”

Aeryn shook her head. “Just waiting for the ceremony tomorrow. All the preparations are made. Was thinking of archery practice to pass time.”

“While that’s important, I’m sure between the two of us we could find something far more interesting to do,” Yda said. “How ‘bout it? I’ve been here for awhile, I know all sorts of fun places and things around town.”

Aeryn considered for a moment, and then nodded, matching Yda’s excited grin; it was rather infectious.

The two headed for the markets, Yda talking a malm a minute, while Aeryn mostly listened, responding quietly as needed, a dynamic comfortably fallen into as they began to walk together.


	8. Prompt 7: Forgiven

The lights of the impossible city reflected on the distant water and the exposed rocky surface of the Tempest’s floor.

“Strange how familiar it feels,” Ardbert said. “Yet so alien at the same time.”

“In that way where one’s seen multiple cities, and so can pick out familiar patterns, regardless of the design,” Aeryn replied. “This is just...bigger and styled differently, but it’s a city all the same.”

He looked at her. “Your Echo is more sensitive than most. Did anything Hythlodaeus say not...resonate with you?”

She thought about it. “It...felt right and true, yes.” She smiled at her ghost. “And it makes certain things make a lot more sense, like why I can see and hear and even touch you.” She shook her head. “But whoever we maybe used to be a part of, this was _their_ life, _their_ home. Not ours. I’m me, and you’re you.”

“And Zaine was Zaine.”

She frowned.

“Think about it. If he was a Warrior of Light, with the Echo, and so similar to myself you almost mistook me for him when we first met, then maybe…”

“We might have to ask Her. And She’s not saying much to us these days--I’m not sure that’s a conversation I want to have, anyroad.”

They lapsed into silence again. The lights continued to blink and shine across Amaurot.

“Helluva first meeting,” Ardbert mused. “A primal summoning and battle, the Echo flashbacks, Thancred’s dramatic entrance to kick my arse.”

“‘Twas a draw, as I recall,” she said with a smile. “...I’m sorry, Ardbert.”

“For what?”

“When we parted---when Minfilia brought you all back here--you asked me to find another way. Another fate. But here we are, _again_, to fight an avatar of darkness, to stop his schemes to end our worlds--to save our friend.” Aeryn hugged herself. She felt like cracking porcelain, barely held together by a thin veneer. “Emet-Selch wasn’t wrong, about how we look for the most direct, obvious solution to the problems in front of us. That usually involves me fighting whatever is threatening my friends, the realm...the world. That’s all I did in Ishgard, Ala Mhigo and Doma, and now here with the Lightwardens...And look where it’s gotten us. We’re _still_ on the brink of another Calamity.”

She felt a hand squeeze her shoulder, that rush of aether pulling them together before he dropped his hand again. “The day’s not over yet,” Ardbert said. “_We’re_ not done yet. You may end up fighting again, but you won’t be alone. We’ll find a way to stay both the Darkness _and_ the Light from overtaking our worlds.”

He looked out over the city. “It’s like you told Urianger not so long ago: there’s naught to forgive. And even if there was, Aeryn, I’ve already promised: I’m here, until the end. No matter what else, I’m at your side.” He looked back at her and smiled.

She couldn’t help but smile back. “Thank you, Ardbert.”

He nodded. “We’d best be getting back to the others; they’re going to be worried about you.”

“True,” she said, letting out a deep breath. She squared her shoulders and headed down the giant, sweeping staircase to meet the other Scions, alongside her fellow Warrior.


	9. Prompt 8: Forgiven II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra Credit Day, as I am caught up, and have more things to say about forgiveness in the Shadowbringers story.

She had arrived early. Most of the Crystarium was still sleeping off the previous night’s revelry, including her fellow Scions. A yawning guard admitted Aeryn to the Ocular, after checking to see that the Exarch himself was even awake yet. Most of his injuries had been tended to in Kholusia, but he had still been exhausted by the ordeal the Ascian had put him through, and had retired from the festivities early on, at Lyna’s behest.

He was not immediately visible when she entered the Ocular, but the door to the Umbilicus was open. Music gently played from the orchestrion, and as she drew closer, she could smell the warmth of a breakfast tray mixed with the sting of medicine.

“May I come in?” She asked from the doorway.

There was a hesitation. “Please,” he finally replied.

The Exarch sat in an armchair by a small table, taking his breakfast. The medication was on a sideboard. He looked up and smiled, and Aeryn paused to study his now-exposed face.

In her memory, G’raha Tia was a man around her own age, his red hair vibrant, skin smooth and tanned from the sun. He had Sage marks on his neck, declaring him an Archon of Sharlayan, and a Circle of Knowing tattoo on his arm, declaring his affiliation to Baldesion and Leveilleur’s beliefs in defiance of the Forum. G’raha and Aeryn had practiced archery and singing together in the murky fields of Mor Dhona in the shadow of the gleaming Tower. One of his eyes had been blue--until the very end, when Una and Dogei had entrusted him with the care of their peoples’ legacy.

She never failed to think of them, and their sacrifice, whenever she walked through the Tower’s front doors bearing their ancestors’ images.

Her eyes moved to the familiar aether goggles she had noted on her last visit to this room. The G’raha she remembered had worn them hanging from his neck. They had been in good, if well-used, condition then. Now, the old goggles were pitted and scarred, the lenses murky. She wondered if they even still functioned. She did not see his old wooden bow, and wondered if it was a casualty of time as well.

Aeryn returned her gaze to the Exarch. He watched her, waiting. There were tired lines around his eyes and mouth; faint, but present. His hair was less vibrant, and streaked with white. The crystal that made up part of his form covered his neck, obscuring the tattoos. The pair of red eyes were the same, however, if older, more weary, and tinged with worry.

Worry for what she was going to say next.

Aeryn closed her eyes, head bowed, as she took a deep breath. “You lied, from the moment I set foot on this world.”

There was a shifting on the chair. She held up a hand to stay his words. “You lied about the Tower’s arrival. About your identity, even when I asked directly at the first. You drew Urianger into your lies and presented that fiction as truth, too. And then you even tried to lie about what you were doing at the top of Mt. Gulg.”

She opened her eyes and raised her head, smiling gently. “For an Archon with Bard training, and a few extra decades of practice now, you’re really _bad_ at lying, G’raha.”

He blinked in surprise, and then chuckled breathily in relief, rubbing the back of his neck. “I suppose that I am at that. As a truth seeker, I was never terribly good at it--particularly with my friends.”

The last word was said almost as a question.

Aeryn crossed the short space and around the table until she was next to the Exarch’s chair. As he turned to face her, she leaned down and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened with surprise, and then melted into the embrace, clutching her jacket. He was crying again.

She smoothed his hair as she straightened. And then flicked one of his ears.

“Ow!”

“You deserved it.”

“Hah. And a great deal more, I should think.”

Aeryn shook her head. “I’m annoyed, but the anger’s fading, now I’ve had time to think about it--and got to take it out on Emet-Selch besides. I...think I understand why, mostly, though I wish you had done things differently. If you’d just trusted us. Trusted _me_.”

“I do,” he said quietly. “Which is precisely why the fiction was required.” He smiled sadly. “I remember all of you well enough to know you would do something ridiculously heroic--especially you. And I was right.”

“It’s what we Scions do,” Aeryn said, crossing her arms. “Still. When I get back to the Source, I’m telling Krile everything.”

“...I am most fortunate she cannot reach me, then.”

“But she _will_ send me back here with a message. And I will have to deliver it. Rammbroes, too, will have some words, I think, and perhaps the Ironworks crew…”

The Exarch groaned and put his head in his hands. “Is this to be my punishment then?”

She was pleased there was at least a hint of his old mirth in the question.

Aeryn patted his shoulder. “Letting those who love you, and have tried to awaken you from the Tower still in Mor Dhona, and would be glad to hear of your exploits, know how you’ve struggled to save two worlds and our friends? Telling them about the beloved leader--and grandfather to Lyna--that you’ve become? Yes, I think that’s a grand story they would be pleased to hear.”

He lifted his face from his hands far enough to peer at her. “You’re a hard woman, Aeryn Striker. I’m glad to have saved you--even at the cost to your trust.”

She shook her head. “The others will be arriving soon.” She turned to leave the little room.

“Can you ever forgive me?” He asked.

She glanced back over her shoulder. He was staring down at his breakfast tray. One of his ears twitched. His tail was hidden by his robes, but she was certain it was lashing.

“For what?”

He looked up and met her gaze. She smiled at her old friend, before turning to stride out into the main room, leaving the Exarch alone to gather his thoughts and emotions.


	10. Prompt 9: Hesitate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I hint at the ship I didn't ever intend to sail on, but it reached out and drug me along while I leveled the character and I am still mad about it.

“Soooooo…” Alisaie’s voice jolted Aeryn as the girl slid up next to her. Alisaie’s gaze was currently where Aeryn’s had been a moment ago: watching Thancred leave the Tower, young Minfilia in tow.

Aeryn looked down at Alisaie and headtilted, an eyebrow raised, waiting for her to complete her thought.

“Have you spoken with him yet?”

Aeryn turned the look into a glower.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” Alisaie said, entirely too cheerfully. She quickly sobered, glancing after the archon and his ward once more as they made their way down the stairs. “I can take Minfilia elsewhere for a time, giving you some privacy to--”

“It’s fine, Alisaie,” Aeryn said shortly. “Don’t worry about it.”

The girl frowned. “I didn’t imagine our conversation back at the Rising Stones, did I?” She was using that tone the twins often did when stating what they believed to be the obvious to those listening.

“No, and I’ll remind you that I told you that in the strictest confidence in a moment of weakness--not even your brother gets to hear it.”

It had been not long after the three archons had fallen to the Exarch’s Call, before they had any idea of what was happening; while Alphinaud was missing in the Empire somewhere, Krile still recovering, Tataru still in Kugane, and it was just Aeryn and Alisaie managing the Scions and watching over their friends’ sleeping forms.

“Oh come on, Alphinaud’s bound to notice; you won’t be able to prove I said anything.”

Aeryn gave her another flat look.

“...Fine, I promise I shall say nothing, not even to Alphinaud...or to the subject himself.” She took another look, as their friends crossed the plaza toward the Crystalline Mean. “Is it because of how he was behaving in Il Mheg? I have to admit I wasn’t…” Alisaie paused. “He’s different.”

Aeryn crossed her arms and looked away. “He’s been here five years. That’s a long time.”

“All the more reason to talk then, isn’t it?”

Aeryn frowned at Alisaie again.

“Well gods know _he’s_ not going to start the conversation, if _emotions_ are involved.”

Aeryn sighed.

“You can admit that I’m right any time now.”

“Don’t have to,” Aeryn replied dryly. She reached over to pull Alisaie into a half-headlock, half-hug. “I’ll figure it out. Soon.”

Alisaie returned the hug, adding a jab to Aeryn’s side as she pulled away. “You’d better. Or I might just slip and say something. You know. Accidentally.”

“I might make a few slips of my own in that case,” Aeryn warned, even as Alisaie laughed and skipped away.

“Let me know how it goes!” the girl called as she dashed off. Not one to slow down, their Alisaie.

Aeryn rubbed her forehead. She was going to regret telling Alisaie anything...on the other hand, it was probably a good thing to be held accountable.

Still. This was a problem for...later. Not now. Not _yet_.

She stood on the stairway, facing the direction of the Crystalline Mean for another half-minute, before finally heading to the Pendants.


	11. Prompt 10: Foster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((A difficult one, even though I have ready info in Aeryn’s own backstory. Burned through a couple ideas I may go back and write longer stories for later, so for now, have a short scene written late. She’s about nine years old here.))

Tanzel found his stepdaughter sitting behind the chocobo shed, knees drawn up, using a small stick to draw in the dirt. She did not look up immediately, but she had to know he was there.

“There you are,” he said, his relief real. She did not respond. He recognized a proper childish sulk when he saw one, and so invited himself to sit next to her among the weeds and chocobo feathers. “You did not return to your class, and worried everyone,” he said. He did not expect a response; the girl was still very quiet, even after four years since Emelia had brought her children home. “What makes such a determined little scholar miss her classes, hrm?”

There was a hesitation, that settled into a continued silence.

“I like your drawings,” Tanzel said, focusing instead on the lines she was scratching into the dirt. Circles and runes mostly, like the arcane books she enjoyed looking at. There were a few unhappy stick figures present as well, perhaps representing the sources of her displeasure. “Paper and ink will last longer,” he pointed out. “We could fetch some, if you like.”

She shook her head, and suddenly scratched out the rough little marks she’d surrounded herself with. She trembled--was it fear? Pain? Anger? He couldn’t tell.

“Aeryn,” he asked quietly. “I want to help. Please; what do you need?”

There was another moment of hesitation, and then she suddenly rose and turned, flinging herself at him so quickly he barely had time to bring his arms up to catch her, shifting to better hold and rock her as she cried into his shoulder.

She had never displayed such emotion around him before, preferring to hide, going to her mother or brother. Tanzel had started to accept that she simply did not trust him, or feel comfortable with him, treating him like a guest in her home even though it had been nearly a year since he had married her mother. Aeryn was polite, respectful, even sweet, and got along with her stepsiblings better than her brother did. But she held her stepfather at a distance, and so Tanzel had respected her bounds, to keep the peace.

Her sobs faded into hiccups and sniffles, and he rubbed her back, listening to the chocobos gossip in their stalls. She still had not told him what had put her in such a state, or who was responsible--gods help them when he found out--but that could wait.

For now, his little girl needed to be held, and that was enough for them both.


	12. Prompt 11: Snuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Common theory about Forgiven Obscenity teased here. Short, and meant to be I think.

“Its Light...It’s blinding!” Ryne cried as Alphinaud bitterly noted which Sin Eater had been set against them with the pinnacle in sight.

“So it’s a bigger candle than most,” Thancred answered as he reloaded. “We’ll snuff it out.”

She knew his bravado was meant to bolster the Scions, but something about seeing the eater before them left her cold, with an itching in the back of her mind.

Then there was no time to think as the battle was joined, the seven Scions against Vauthry’s most powerful guardian.

Thancred’s words proved true in the end as the eater crumbled, her dissonant songs silenced and her Light darkened. The eater’s death drew swarms more, before finally facing Vauthry himself.

_A bigger candle than most_, she remembered as she pit her Light against his, overwhelming and absorbing and _remembering_…

The Echo left her on her knees even before she drew in the blighted power of Innocence. She considered the silently sad face of the woman in those memories, and thought of the still, cold face of his guardian eater, perpetually melancholy and doomed to sing destruction.

Vauthry’s favorite, Alphinaud had said. Always at Vauthry’s side in Eulmore, and protecting him to the end as they had fought up the talos and the strange palace.

A life snuffed out long before the Scions had ever arrived.

She looked at the broken corpse of what had once been Vauthry.

His life, too--before it had even begun. And she knew who was responsible.

She reached out to the fallen Warden.

Time to turn out the lights.


	13. Prompt 12: Fingers Crossed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Featuring a guildmate and inspired by an evening gaining exp on alt jobs))

“Pixies,” Aeryn muttered as she caught her breath. She scribbled a few notes in her tome; her practice at Alphinaud’s style of arcanima healing had certainly gotten a workout this evening.

Erick only sighed, checking his gun and aetherometer before making sure his blond hair hadn’t been irreparably damaged by the fuaths’ idea of “fun.”

The Church ruins seemed almost ominously silent now that the Daens’ game had come to an end.

“Think they’ll make good on their promise to behave?” Aeryn asked idly.

Erick side-eyed her. He was still wearing his shaded glasses, even though the sky was darkening over Il Mheg. It was entirely a fashion statement for the mercenary.

“Not even if their froggy little fingers hadn’t blatantly been crossed behind their backs,” he replied dryly. “Question is, how long until they start up again.”

Aeryn thought about it a moment, and had to agree. “Maybe we should conclude our business with the nu mou a bit quicker, then. Before the Daens decide they want to ‘play’ with us some more.”

The side-eye turned into a flat look. “Tell you what,” Erick offered. “Why don’t you report back to Alphinaud, while I wrap things up with the nu mou?”

Erick had been working with the nu mou for a couple days with no real incidents--until Aeryn had come around to to offer help as well. And then gotten them both caught up in the games between the pixie Ul An and the fuath Daen brothers.

In her own defense, Aeryn had been responding to the amaro and nu mou who had also gotten caught in the crossfire. Things had simply...escalated after that point.

She gave him a pout but could tell he wasn’t going to budge. If Dark were here she could convince him, but Aeryn wasn’t quite as intimidating as the hellsguard woman. And no way was Aeryn going to try to flirt; not only was she bad at it (and he’d see through the poor attempt instantly), but it was _Erick_.

“Well,” she said. “I guess I could return to Eulmore and pick up a few things…”

“You go do that,” Erick said. “I got contracts to finish.” He whistled for his chocobo.

“I feel like I should say I’m sorry?”

He sighed again as he mounted up. She thought she heard him mutter something about “chronically helpful” and “damn altruism” but it was hard to tell before he took off for Pla Enni.

Ah well. Aeryn headed for nearby Wolekdorf to make use of the aetheryte, maybe say hello to Seto while in the neighborhood. Erick could grumble about her heroics all he liked--especially when she knew he wasn’t really _quite_ as much of a greedy bastard as he liked to claim.

_Almost_, but not quite.


	14. Prompt 13: Wax

> _Dearest Rashae,_
> 
> _Where to begin?_

Aeryn tapped the pen on the edge of the blotter. Where indeed?

> _I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last letter. Things got more than a little intense here. I’ll tell you everything--you made me promise I would--but I want to let you know, right off, that I’m_

Aeryn paused again, considering her next words very carefully as she stared at the page.

> _safe, and in good health. So are my new friends, though it was a very near thing for one of them._
> 
> _Since I did promise to tell you all, I can now let you know what this order of scholar-warriors I have fallen in with is called; it was something of a secret before, but recent events have made the group, and its mission, a matter of public record. Forgive me for not entrusting the name “Scions of the Seventh Dawn” to my letters before now. While it may seem an innocuous title to you, here in Eorzea, it is anything but._

“Getting some study in?” Y’shtola’s voice made Aeryn pause and look up. The miqo’te conjurer had two steaming mugs in hand. “Thought you could use some tea.”

Aeryn nodded. “Thank you. Writing my stepsister, actually. There’s...much to catch up on.”

“You write her often, do you not?” Y’shtola set one of the mugs down near Aeryn, turning it so the handle faced her, before inviting herself to the seat across the table.

The Waking Sands common room was beginning to empty as the evening wore on. The Antecedent had made Thancred retire early, Papalymo and Yda were preparing for a trip to Gridania, and the local sutlers were going over supply lists with Tataru upstairs. Alphinaud and Arenvald were playing Triple Triad at a table on the other side of the room, and Aeryn was fairly certain Urianger was reading in his usual corner.

“I promised,” Aeryn responded after her quick look around the room. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had a chance to write a proper letter.” She looked down at the page. “There’s much to tell.”

Y’shtola’s bright green eyes regarded her over the rim of her mug. “And how much will you tell her?”

Aeryn considered how the archon might take the answer. “Everything,” she said. “Though I need to be careful about how. There are things I haven’t told her yet, but some of those matters are no longer secret.”

“Like our order’s name?” Y’shtola asked with a hint of mirth, her eyes flicking to the page and back up to Aeryn’s face.

She smiled sheepishly. “Yes. And.” She paused. “Much of what happened in the Praetorium.”

“Are you sure about that?” The question was genuine, as was the concern for Aeryn behind it.

“It may help me...figure it out,” Aeryn admitted. “And Rashae’s always had a good perspective on things. Gets me to see angles I hadn’t before.”

“Sounds a bit like one of my own sisters,” Y’shtola mused. “Well. I suppose you’ll be needing this.” She pulled a small package from her belt pouch, setting it on the desk.

Aeryn headtilted, then picked up the package. It was a simple, small box with a hinged lid, tied down with a simple bit of leather. Aeryn opened the box and blinked at a basic wax seal kit; a few sticks of wax, two small candles, and the stamp itself…

“Oh.” The arcane eye sigil worn by the archons--the symbol of Louisoix’s Circle of Knowing--was engraved in fine detail on the brass bottom.

“We all have one,” Y’shtola explained. “Though they shall be for more than identifying furtive correspondence with our closest allies, or signaling the Antecedent’s authority to those in the know, from now on. And it seemed to me you ought to have a proper one as well.”

Aeryn looked up at her. Y’shtola smiled. “I shall let you get back to your letter writing. Without feeling pained by watching you use a makeshift seal,” she teased.

Aeryn knew she was probably blushing. She hadn’t wanted to bother anyone and kept forgetting to get herself a proper stamp, so had simply made do whenever necessary. She ought to have known the sharp-eyed conjurer would catch her at it.

“Thank you,” she managed.

“You’re quite welcome. Have a good night, and don’t let your tea get cold.” Y’shtola stood and left, waving at the boys as they paused their game long enough to bid her good night from across the room.

Aeryn sipped the tea--a soothing minty green--and considered the letter before her.

She picked up her pen.

> _Our order’s history begins before its current name, but its focus was ever the same: to join the realm against its enemies and, barring preventing the Seventh Umbral Calamity, to ensure Eorzea not only survived that dark day, but to foster the light of hope, that all might see the dawn of the Seventh Astral Era. I’ve found myself playing a part in our mission’s success, and now I have the time to tell you all..._


	15. Prompt 14: Scour

The Burn had been awful enough. She hadn’t imagined anything could be more terrible than that pale, shining desert scarring the edges of Othard and Ilsabard.

The Empty was so much worse; an entire world scoured clean by the Light, its aether frozen and shattered.

There was no sound, aside from their own movements and words, the only hint of life in the midst of this endless desert.

Even the Burn had life, after a fashion; creatures that had adapted in desperation to survive on the trickle of aether remaining. Allagan constructs still hummed just below the surface in their control hubs and tunnels. There still existed the ambient aether of the rest of the world, the Burn but a wound in the Source’s surface.

It was the opposite on the First--the remnant of Norvrandt was all that remained of life and flowing aether, a tiny island in an ocean of Nothing. Blank, white sands stretched on forever, and even the mountains had been laid low. There were no hints of forests or cities. No indication between an old road or an old riverbed.

The wind blew across the plains, but even that seemed muted; there was naught to make it whistle or moan.

The official story of the Burn’s creation--told and perpetuated by Ascians in the guise of Imperial authority--was a lie, the truth of the aether-void the result of Allagan ingenuity, leading to Azys Lla.

She wondered what stories would be told of the Empty and its creation, why life only remained in one realm. Even if they succeeded in Urianger’s scheme to restart the flow of aether, to return life to the lifeless, it would take years, decades, centuries, for the world to recover. For plants and animals and people to spread across the globe once more.

Her eyes moved above the blasted plains to the form Ryne had dubbed “Eden” floating overhead. “Where did you come from?” She murmured. “Why come here? Just to scour this world clean of all? Was it the Flood that drew you? Or did your presence trigger it once the Warriors of Light won their battles?”

There was so much they had yet to learn about this strange...being. She wasn’t so sure it was a sin eater, not like the others.

Urianger called to her; Ryne was ready for the next step, and Thancred had ensured their strange new guest’s comfort--and security. Perhaps the girl could explain what she knew, why she had attacked--if and when she woke.

She turned from the view of the Empty and Eden to return to their little camp, the only spot of life and color in this silent land.


	16. Memoirs of Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A different sort of entry for the Free Day/Extra Credit. For this year's Rising, SE had a creative writing contest about one's memories in FFXIV (to go with the "Messages in Bottles" of the holiday quest). I almost missed the deadline, but since I was caught up on all my prompts, I spent a chunk of my afternoon writing this down--it had been in my head for awhile--and posting to the forum thread.
> 
> So if just here for character fiction, feel free to skip this one as I wax on about one of my friends who introduced me to this game--and Gentleman Inspector Hildibrand Helidor Maximilian Manderville.

**An Open Page on a Writing Desk:**

It wasn’t until much later that I realized how low things were for me about two years ago. Times were rough, but when aren’t they? A good friend of mine told me to speak to Wymond in Ul’dah, about a lead on a young lady needing assistance. So my friend and I went to the lichyard in Thanalan, where this young woman was mourning her lost colleague, but determined to carry on his work.

This was an uncommon venture from the start, the Echo showing events from the girl’s past--and a hint her colleague may still be alive. So my friend and I went along to investigate the strange undead of the region, until we found their leader--a man not quite dead, as it turned out.

Bombs are no joking matter, yet something about the manic smile that slowly spread on the girl’s face as she drew them out to jog his memory threw me into paroxysms of laughter. I couldn't stop. My friend was giggling because I was laughing; he had known what was coming the entire time.

That was my introduction to Hildibrand Manderville and his...unique way of coming at the world, with inextinguishable optimism and joy. And quite a lot of bumbling and fumbling, across Thanalan and even into La Noscea, my friend and I racing along on their whirlwind ride. I could see why the intrepid reporter and Ishgardian inspector were frustrated and confounded at every turn by Hildibrand’s buffoonery.

Yet, as the stakes suddenly turned from silly to realm-threatening, I noticed something. Along the way, everyone Hildibrand met and interacted with was left...better for the experience. From the wealthy mother and daughter, to the struggling Coliseum fighter, to the heiress taking charge of her own life; even the Ishgardian inspector, and the villains of the story.

And I hadn’t laughed like that in a long time, or felt such simple joy in a “side story” after all the drama of main events--or my personal life. I’m not sure my friend knew how much I needed to meet Hildibrand; I didn’t realize it myself at the time. I’m grateful now for the introduction, though.

Now we seek seek out the inspector whenever we go to a new place, eagerly awaiting the next step in the current investigation. Noting who is left better for the experience of just being helped by a kind, goofy fool of a man, and the healing laughter that follows in his wake (after the sighs of frustration and disbelief).

Until we meet again, Inspector. I’m sure you’ll be along when we need you.


	17. Prompt 16: Jitter

In a fit of exasperation, Aeryn finally resorted to smacking the level checker. The monitor went entirely fuzzy before mostly clearing up, though lines still jittered across the screen.

“Oy, think you’re Garlond now? That’s his job,” Nero said. “Since he can’t be bothered to learn how these _actually_ work.”

She only eye-rolled at him. She had long since learned the mutual jabs and snarks to be their own form of affectionate banter, but if they would keep up appearances then so would she, and feign only annoyance at the former tribunus.

Around them the Rift hummed, a low beat that vibrated in her bones. She had to periodically remind herself to unclench her jaw when her teeth started to ache. “Where _is_ Cid?” She asked, looking around the camp. Gods, it was a mess; neither Garlean, it seemed, knew how to put away, let alone _wash_, his coffee mugs once finished. While Nero set to actually repairing the malfunctioning monitor, Aeryn began to tidy up; she could at least manage that.

“Topside, checking in with Jessie,” Nero replied as he jimmied open the panel on the level checker’s side. “Have to allay concerns that we’re facing certain doom here every waking moment. Personally I think they’re having a bit of a snog.”

Aeryn almost dropped the mugs she had been collecting. The tin cups clinked merrily at the near-upset. “I doubt that very much,” she replied. Frankly, the idea of Jessie kissing _anyone_ was too far outside her imagination.

Nero only grinned; he was trying to fluster her, having found it absurdly easy and ‘far less lethal than engaging the Warrior of Light in combat again.’ “I think I know them better than you, being colleagues.”

Aeryn hoped she wasn’t blushing. “Uh-huh. If they are, you jealous?”

He looked up from his jerry-rigging of the level checker to glower at her through his ridiculous shaded glasses. Aeryn smiled back, as innocently as possible.

Before he could make another attempt at a witty rejoinder, a sound like a crack shot through the Rift, a familiar rumble and shift in the thrum of the machines. In the distance, one of the “eggs” pixelated and vanished from existence.

It was like watching the images on the broken screens, Aeryn thought.

“Another test world down,” Nero said, all teasing fled. “We’re running low on contenders.” He looked to her again, though this time, the gaze behind the shaded lenses was more calculating.

Aeryn cleared her throat. “We have the data on the next test yet?” She finally asked, her own gaze going to the central structure, where Omega itself housed its primary form.

“Soon as I get this blasted thing to--ah, there we are,” Nero answered. The screen of the repurposed level checker flashed. Aeryn blinked, and when she looked again, it was a clear image.

“Is that an art gallery?” She asked.

“Huh,” was his only reply. He peered at the image, tapped a few commands into the keyboard, and looked again. “I believe it is. Not all there is to it, of course. But not to worry; I’ll figure out the trick to this one as well.” He gave her one of his trademark smirking grins.

There was still a small part of her that wanted to slap that expression off his face. She suppressed the urge and nodded. “Thanks, Nero.”

“Please; mention nothing of it,” came the dry reply as he went back to tapping at the keyboard.

Around them, the Rift hummed and vibrated as Omega continued its tests.


	18. Prompt 17: Obeisant

Dearest Rashae,

I hope you won’t mind the pack of letters that you’re going to receive in bulk from a pixie. It almost seems easier to write to you than in my journal, even if I cannot send them so often as I might like. Perhaps it’s the need for connection to home, as far away from even Eorzea that I am.

Before I go much further: Yes, I have checked my journal for entries I don’t remember writing. She’s not saying anything. Yet.

I’m writing you from Mord Souq. As I told you before, it’s the largest “city” left in Amh Araeng. It’s perhaps only a little bigger than Vesper Bay, and almost as busy as that port.

I’ve joined up with another bounty hunter after another of the Cardinal Virtues. Granson lost his fiancee to this one a year ago. I thought, at first, his many scars were a result of his hunts--but the majority of them are self-inflicted, a way of dealing with his pain and visual reminder of his promise to hunt the one they call Dikaiosyne.

I knew him as Blanhaerz. His real name was Branden. He was a knight of Voeburt before becoming a Warrior of Light, before the Flood. Like the others, he sacrificed himself to save this realm. Now his remains have been twisted into this mockery.

Granson wants revenge; I want to put Ardbert’s brother to rest. He doesn’t deserve this fate. None of them do.

At least, that’s what I believe. It’s one of the few beliefs I have left.

We tracked a piece of antique jewelry to Amh Araeng. Sin eaters are creatures of instinct, feral and unthinking. The Cardinal Virtues I have hunted so far have been different, each one driven by instinct, yes, but the instinct was influenced by a strong memory of their past. In Renda-Rae’s case, the hunt for the beast that took her friends. For Nyelbert, rescuing Taynor from the Rift. For Branden, it has something to do with these pieces of antique jewelry; I am unsure yet as to their significance, and my brief meeting with Dikaiosyne earlier did not enlighten me.

Usually my glimpses of the former Warriors of Light trigger the Echo, sending me reeling as they vanish once again, leaving my companions and I to start over in our hunt. Today, though, I was seeking a scavenger who had found a companion to the piece Dikaiosyne had stolen last year, when he attacked Granson’s village.

I was too late, by ilms and seconds.

I heard the man’s screaming, and crested the dune just in time to see the horrific transformation once more. I shall never be used to it, and hope our actions here soon abolish its like occurring ever again. Dikaiosyne spared not a glance at his newborn, nor for me. He simply picked up the fallen choker and left in a haze, as they are wont to do.

The new eater still had just enough of its original mind left to beg me for the only aid I could give. So I did what had to be done.

After, as it broke into component aether, I tried to pray for the lost man’s soul...and found I could not.

I have spent so much time now fighting others’ gods. Learning the nature of primals, of the summoning Louisoix attempted at Carteneau. And now, so far from home, I have learned a new truth, of the Crystal and Her counterpart, of the history of the world and the heart of our beliefs--of my very existence and purpose.

And I realized, standing there in the shifting, sandy Hills of Amber, that I cannot pray. Not anymore. Not to gods I do not, cannot, believe in.

Part of me wanted to laugh, but I was afraid I would never stop.

I was born to a proper Halonic village, under the sign of the Fury, even, in the midst of winter. But Halone is an abstract concept, the many volumes housed in Ishgard’s libraries academically and aesthetically valuable, but they give my soul no comfort.

My Sharlayan colleagues regard Thaliak highly, looking for guidance and wisdom, but I have only ever seen their own intelligences at work, and my only connection to the Scholar is the marker in Mor Dhona where we paid respects to one of our fallen.

Thal can keep the gilded halls, if they even exist. Rhalgr’s power is naught more than that which naturally arcs across the sky, and honestly, how different is reverence for him better than Ramuh, who also controls such destructive force, according to the sylphs? Not that I’ll say such to Lyse or Raubahn whenever we next meet, though as a former Scion she should know better.

We make our own gods, out of desperation. With the right magic, they answer--but the cost is too great, after all I’ve seen and experienced.

Were I still in Ishgard, I might well be branded a heretic for such opinions. But I cannot give obeisance to figments of our own imaginations. I cannot ask a fiction to gather a soul whose life was ended so violently, to grant succor to the widow left behind.

I can imagine your reply; that I shouldn’t be too hasty, nor trust in the words of a Paragon, no matter how much evidence seemed to support his version of the truth. And I know that. I know the truth is likely somewhere in between what Hydaelyn's Word told us, and what Emet-Selch said.

It does nothing for the emptiness I felt there in the sand, staring at the spot the eater had been. The proper thing to do would have been to pray. But I just couldn’t.

I felt...lost.

Maybe I am. Just another sinner, as they say here in Norvrandt. Fighting the sinless, the ones who’ve supposedly been “forgiven” by the Light.

[_There is a gap in the lines, and the ink of the next is of a slightly different hue_]

That got rather heavy, didn’t it? I had to put up my writing once Granson got back from dealing with the scavenger’s widow. I considered removing the last page on re-reading what I wrote but on reflection I shall keep it. Even if I never send this missive, and instead leave it tucked between pages of my journal, putting the feeling to words helped loosen some of the tightness in my chest and ache in my heart.

We’re off to Il Mheg, on our hunt for Dikaiosyne. Granson’s pieced enough of the story together that we hope to learn more there, in the ruins of the nation Branden hailed from. Hopefully the fae won’t give us too difficult a time--luckily, I have a bit of an in with their King, at least.

I will write to you again soon, and maybe even send some of what I’ve written, speaking of my friend the King of the fae. I shall have to be quite flowery in my request; they enjoy that.

Please don’t worry about me; I’m fine, really, if just realizing what all I’ve lost in the process of becoming a Warrior of Light and Darkness. Perhaps it was inevitable.

Even so, I have hope for the future my friends and I have wrought for this realm, and our own. For the people here who struggle and survive in the face of the odds, and continue living their lives on their own terms despite teetering so close to the brink.

Perhaps, if I am left to believe in anything, I believe in them.

Give my love to the rest. I’ll send a proper letter to be read for the family soon, with stories and pictures for the children.

All my love,

Aeryn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Aeryn writes to her stepsister, supposedly telling her "everything" but not quite--though near enough. I don't think Rashae is privy to the fact that Norvrandt is on a whole other world, at least. Aeryn's tank class is Dark Knight and she does reference Esteem here; Rashae does know about that. I was debating what to do at all with this one while replaying the tank role quests, and then it hit me hard and fast, and it seemed a good time to tackle Aeryn's loss of faith in deities in general.))


	19. Prompt 18: Wilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Crown of the Immaculate and Mt Gulg. It was not a good time by all accounts.

“You’re going to drop her,” Bragi said gently, a big hand on Thancred’s shoulder as he nearly stumbled again. “You’re all exhausted; let us do our part.”

He had to concede the point, and allowed Bragi to take Aeryn from his arms, to carry her the rest of the way to her room in the Pendants, past pale-faced staff who rushed to get the doors.

Behind him, Alphinaud sighed in relief. He, Urianger, and Y’shtola stumbled after the master of markets, to provide what aid they still could for their fallen friend--or at least brief the Crystarium’s healers as much as they dared--before they succumbed to their own exhaustion. Hells, Urianger was limping, Thancred noticed. He felt his fists and jaws clench; whatever the mages could attempt in their weary state, it wouldn’t be enough, and there was nothing further he could do to help, magickless as he was.

“Oh,” Ryne softly said, kneeling next to him.

Thancred forced himself to relax, to not snap. “What is it, Ryne?”

“Her flowers; the ones she likes to put in her hair,” she answered, standing again. The small corsage of white violas lay in Ryne’s palm. Normally, they looked crisp and fresh as the day they blossomed, standing out against the fine strands of Aeryn’s midnight hair. Now, the violas looked wilted, petals missing, discoloration marring their appearance.

He hadn’t noticed when they had fallen, or that she even still wore them; they had blended into the white that had overtaken her hair as the corrupted Light began its alterations.

“Those can’t be salvaged, I’m afraid,” Thancred said. “We shall have to replace them.”

Ryne looked up at him, and the mistiness in her eyes sent a sharp pain through him. “Thancred…”

“We’ll check the Hortorium,” he said. “They’ll surely have something.”

“_After_ you rest,” Alisaie said firmly, joining them. Lyna was with her. “The flowers can wait until...until Aeryn wakes.” Her shoulders slumped far too heavily for one so young.

“Of course,” he replied, cursing himself at the crack in his voice. Lyna’s ears twitched at the sound. None of them voiced the worry that it would not be _Aeryn_ who woke from her Light-induced slumber.

“Alisaie is right; get your rest,” the Captain said in her usual clipped manner. “I expect a _full_ report on the morrow.” He was glad it was only her violet eyes targeting him and not her weapons, otherwise he would be sliced to ribbons.

_That_ was going to be a fun morning. They had gotten most of their story straight before descending Mt Gulg but even so…

Ryne’s small hand squeezed his. “Come on, Thancred,” she said quietly, barely able to tug his arm. Some of that was her own weariness, some how stiffly he still held himself, afraid he would fall over or simply break right there in the Quadrivium.

He felt leaden, but managed to find enough momentum to follow, allowing the girl to guide him back to their own apartment.

If he never climbed another giant Talos--while fighting for every ilm through endless packs of sin eaters--again, it would be too soon. His everything ached.

_And the damned Ascian took advantage of our wounds and exhaustion and Aeryn’s condition.._

Thoughts fled as Ryne collapsed the moment the door closed, her legs simply folding under her, too quick for him to catch. “Sorry,” she said. “I just--”

“Can’t, I know,” he finished, scooping her up. Thank gods she was light as a feather and her room wasn’t far; even so, he practically dropped her on her bed. “Sorry, Ryne.”

“S’all right,” she replied sleepily, rolling over, not bothering to get under the covers, or even removing her boots.

Bleary-eyed, Thancred removed them for her, and found an extra blanket to draw over her slight frame. As he did, he noticed she still clutched the ruined corsage. He thought of taking it from her, but in the end, after staring without really seeing for a good few minutes, he turned and made his way back to his own side of the chambers.

He managed to get his armor off at least, before dropping onto his bed.

Thancred stared at the ceiling, unable to find the sleep he so craved. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered to himself. “Making the same mistakes all over again.”

So much left unsaid; would he get the chance now? Or would he wake to find a Lightwarden in Aeryn’s place?

No; Ryne’s work would hold for a little while. Long enough to find a cure?

For the first time in a long time, he muttered a prayer to Thaliak before sleep finally found him.


	20. Prompt 19: Radiant

He was suffocating in the abyss, falling in an endless freezing void. The memory of Ultima’s power was already fading and now so was he.

There was a glimmer off to one side.

He struggled toward it, a drowning man desperate for air, the surface a faint prayer of hope--

Light burst into the void, blinding and warm, a hand reaching out, the figure made of illumination.

He reached for that radiant, familiar figure---

Thancred woke, slowly, achingly, the weight of the blanket almost too much, but far less than the pressure of the void. The darkness of the...room? No, a tent...was likewise comfortable and familiar, shapes slowly coming into focus.

There was candlelight, and a girl’s face peered at him; pale, blonde, with big green eyes. “Thank Nophica,” she said softly, in a familiar voice too old for her slim frame. He realized he knew her.

“Your glamour,” he tried to say, but it came out a hoarse rasp. How long since he had used his own voice? And _that_ is the first thing he said?

She smiled. “I had just woken and had yet to apply it when I saw you stir.” She held his head and pressed a cup to his lips, helping him slowly drink just a little water. He wanted more, but she measured him carefully.

“Seems...indecent somehow,” he replied. That sounded better. Almost like himself.

She giggled, trying to keep quiet. “And from the bard, no less. A moment, then.”

She stepped just out of sight, but he focused enough to feel the aetheric shift as he heard the snap. So far, all the senses seemed to be working; this might actually be real.

When she came into view again, it was the same girl, but looking closer to her true age of a woman nearing thirty, instead of the adolescent body the padjal was trapped in. Kan-E’s slightly-green-glowing hand passed a few ilms over his body, and she nodded, seemingly satisfied. “I’m going to see to some breakfast; I’m not certain, but it seems as if it’s been some time since your body has eaten.” _Since the Ascian bothered to eat_. “I shall return soon.”

He heard the tent flap fall into place behind her, sleepy guards respond to her presence. Thancred did his best to sit up, and realized why she had continued to be quiet after he had woken.

Only a couple fulms away, curled against the side of the tent and each other, were the sleeping Scions. Minfilia was in the middle, propped up by Urianger on one side, Aeryn on the other. Yda was next to Aeryn and both women had their legs tucked close to their frames to give room to Papalymo, laying in front of them. Y’shtola was on Yda’s other side. Alphinaud was leaning on Urianger’s other side, and was roused by the Elder Seedseer’s exit. The boy rubbed his eyes as she left, and looked toward the bed.

“Oh!” He gasped, a grin spreading across his face. He elbowed Urianger, then reached across to poke Minfilia. Rousing them woke the others, as Thancred slowly got himself into a sitting position.

“Thancred!” Minfilia exclaimed, smiling brightly.

“He’s awake! Papalymo, get _up_,” Yda said, prodding the grumbling lalafell.

Thancred smiled as they scrambled to get up and stumble over. He caught their newest member’s eyes and he grinned. “Well, I must say, ‘tis not the usual way for a lady to leave me so bruised upon waking.”

“For gods’ sake, Thancred,” Y’shtola groaned. She was grinning too, however.

As Minfilia sat next to him--and Yda practically tackled him, only to be scolded for it by Papalymo--Thancred let the teasing facade relax as he gave Aeryn a genuine smile.

“Thank you, my friend.”

She looked up, still blushing from his last comment--it was so easy to make her redden, he had almost forgotten--and smiled back.

It was radiant as her image that had pulled him from the abyss.


	21. Prompt 20: Bisect

For a brief, glorious moment, they had been One. Joined in a way not known since the beginning--all it took for her to push past her final reticence was the threat posed by that Warrior of Light.

Seven times Rejoined, and still so ignorant--and yet all the more infuriating for it.

Some things truly never changed.

He had underestimated her strength before, but she had been without her Mother’s Blessing for months now--surely she would fall to their combined might.

Yet, somehow, she was all the _stronger_. Her power tore them asunder, no matter how he tried to hold on to Igeyorhm.

(_If it were Igeyorhm’s true self, and not this raised-up reincarnation, would this have been different? She had the power, and the memories, but her own life and perspective colored it all; she was and yet was not his…_)

“Let us withdraw, Lahabrea. That power remains to us, at least.”

Foolish, making their enemy aware. The Warrior of Light was likewise not his old colleague, but she had similar instincts. The moment she saw Igeyorhm’s crystal, perhaps even before, she moved to act, ensnaring Igeyorhm in a prison of auracite.

It would not last long, but it did not need to.

The Eye of Nidhogg empowered her Blade of Light. Still reeling, weakened on the ground, Lahabrea could but watch the strands of aether as the Eye’s phenomenal reserves were spent--more than necessary, really, but this child had none of the original’s control--and the auracite was bisected, then each piece split in twain, and then again, and again.

He felt more than heard Igeyorhm’s scream as she fell into oblivion.

Once again, he had lost her, and this time he was not certain enough of her remained amid the Lifestream to raise and remember.

He would try; he owed Igeyorhm that. And he could make the attempt easily enough once he took his own leave; the foolish girl had spent the Eye’s current reserve. He would have his revenge--

“So, not even the vaunted Warrior of Light can unmake an Ascian without relying upon mortal contrivances.”

“You!”

It seemed inconceivable that he could have underestimated these broken souls. He struggled to rise. He had to leave.

The archbishop summoned a god into his own flesh, and Lahabrea realized too late the knights had done the same, mimicking the trick of the girl who had become Shiva--except they had not the protection of the Echo, and so the aether of their own creations overwhelmed them utterly.

There would be no chances given.

_Were_ none, as the primal’s blade swung, the Eye gleaming, as he was cut in two, and each piece split again and again and again, as he fell into that red essence

And knew nothing more.


	22. Prompt 21: Crunch

The gravel crunched underfoot, broken glass and bits of wood torn from the buildings mixed in on the empty streets and plazas. The river burbled around the old market square, but the untended rice gardens were choked with weeds.

It was all far too quiet.

“Look out!” A voice called, and Aeryn whirled in time to see a sin eater leap for her, the creature’s jaws distended and dripping. Arrows struck it, one in the neck, another with different fletching in the side, as a firebolt broke against its hide, the flames skittering across it. Aeryn brought up her rapier as the creature continued to lurch forward, carried by its own momentum. Granson slid in between her and the eater, his greatsword sweeping up to remove the thing’s head. It fell, bursting into a cloud of aether before its elongated body hit the ground.

“Ought to be paying more attention,” Granson growled, flicking ichor off his sword. “These minor beasts are still dangerous--even for you.”

Aeryn nodded. “Sorry; I was distracted.” She looked around the ruins of Holminster. This part of the settlement was still too dangerous for reconstruction, with stray sin eaters hiding among the rubble and overgrowth--hence the job to thin them out. With the Scions scattered about Norvrandt on their own work, Aeryn had called in the best hunters she knew, all of them quite willing to accept the pay offered by the Crystarium Guard.

“Obviously,” Cerigg said dryly as he and Taynor joined them. “Weren’t having another of your visions, were you?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly. More remembering when we first came here, and fought the Lightwarden. Half the village was on fire, there were cocoons everywhere; even the animals had been turned. And the warden itself was…” Aeryn shuddered.

“Alphinaud showed me sketches he drew of all of the Lightwardens, once,” Taynor said. “I somewhat regret asking, but my curiosity had gotten the better of me. I believe he gave the sketches to Moren, for the library’s records.”

Cerigg seemed about to respond when they heard a sudden spate of cursing, another crunching sound, and Lue-Reeq’s voice whining “Aw, c’mon I didn’t mean it!”

Granson sighed. “Best make sure the dwarf don’t kill the poor sinner,” he muttered, striding over to separate Giott from the mystel.

Cerigg shook his head. “We’ve got more work to do. You up for it, Aeryn?”

She nodded, sparing no further looks at the empty market square. “Let’s move on--without me getting distracted this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really love the Role Quest NPCs. Even (especially?) if it means Granson and Cerigg are babysitting/herding cats because you know that's how it's going to shake out.


	23. Prompt 22: Responsibility

“How? How could she have been so careless?” Lahabrea ranted.

Emet-Selch watched, in that infuriatingly placid way he had that simply oozed weary judgment. “I told you: it’s not really her. You keep expecting her to be the same, but she is not.”

“You are the one who said her soul was the same!”

Elidibus was difficult to miss as he stepped into the room. “The woman who held that title in Amaurot died with our city and the rest of our people,” he said, in his own too-calm tone. “The woman we have raised to the office of Igeyorhm may share the soul’s energy, and even remember much of that time now, but she is still a wholly new person.” He paused in thought. “A consideration for the future and our plans perhaps…”

“It changes nothing,” Emet-Selch said smoothly. He leaned forward, elbows resting on knees, hands clasped and gently tapping his chin, eyes closed behind his mask. “Once all the worlds are Rejoined, all will be sacrificed to Him, and He will restore them all.”

“But they _won’t_ all be Rejoined!” Lahabrea raged. How could they both stay so infuriatingly calm? “Not after what she’s done!”

The Thirteenth was wasted, and all upon it lost to the Void. An unexpected hitch in their plans.

“Then punish her,” Emet-Selch said, standing and stretching. “You made it clear before that she is _your_ responsibility. I have better things to do than listen to you rant for the next quarter century.” He gave that arrogant little wave of his as he walked into a portal of his making, returning to his current empire.

Lahabrea looked at Elidibus. The Emissary was unmoving.

“Fine,” Labahrea spat. He opened a portal to the oubliette where they had left their colleague and stepped through.

Away from the other two, his rage faded as he looked at the woman kneeling in the darkness. He did not show how much her broken form pained him as he allowed a bit of light. He was glad for his mask.

She looked at him, lips pressed together, determined. She did not wear her mask; it was less common, among the upraised. “I have erred,” she said.

“Greatly,” Lahabrea answered coldly as he paced a circle around her, not looking at where she knelt in the center of his decided orbit. “Our Lord is most displeased.”

“_You_ are most displeased.”

“I want what He wants,” he replied. “Though I do admit to...disappointment.”

She managed not to flinch. Good.

“The Thirteenth has been lost due to your impatience,” Lahabrea continued. “It can never be Rejoined; those souls are lost to us, to those who must be made whole.” He inclined his face slightly in her direction. “Including your own.”

Her eyes flicked away from him again, to stare into the middle distance. “And I am to be punished? Will you take away the Gift you have given?”

Lahabrea allowed the question to hang in the air for a moment longer than necessary. She did not fidget, her eyes did not twitch. _Good_.

“No,” he finally said. He continued walking, moving behind her now, but her confusion was noticeable to him, even if she maintained her control. “We have realized we have been hasty in our plans, and must take a longer view of our situation, allowing our plans more time to unfold,” he said, pausing his steps. “We also cannot allow ourselves to work independently, lest we get ahead of ourselves; by working together we can achieve our goal in bringing Him back.”

_And He will bring _them_ back--including your true self._

“And I shall still have a part in returning our Lord to His glory?” She asked, tentatively.

“You shall work for me directly,” he answered. “Assisting my work upon the Source itself--since your own Shard is no more.”

As she began to relax he rushed forward. She gasped as he grabbed her, one hand digging into her arm, the other at her throat, clawed gloves pricking the thin skin of her neck as he held her against his chest.

“Do not disappoint me again,” he hissed into her ear.

She dared a swallow. “Never,” she whispered.

He relaxed his grip, barely stopping himself from caressing her neck, from giving her a reassuring kiss on the cheek. _She knows and remembers, but still is not the same_.

Lahabrea released her and stood. “Rise then, Igeyorhm, and follow me. There’s much to be done, in His name.”

She rose smoothly, drawing her mask back into place over her features. With it, he could almost pretend she was her original self, not this only nearly-perfect reincarnation.

“In Lord Zodiark’s name,” she responded, following him through his portal and back into the world they would Rejoin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one started with the “Bisect” prompt, but was getting long, so I saved what I’d begun in another file, and just wrote the main bit I wanted for that day’s entry. But I liked this idea too much and wanted to continue with it–also I am Lahabrea/Igeyorhm shipper trash (though it’s really probably not a healthy relationship all things considered) …Anyway, have an extra credit entry.


	24. Prompt 23: Parched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((_I blame my friends for this. And some of my scrap drafts, but mostly my friends. <3 _))

“...Did you somehow adopt another one?” Aeryn asked.

“What?” Thancred blinked and looked down. A nutkin sat at his feet, gnawing on an acorn. It looked up and chittered, running around his boots upon being noticed. “I did _not_ adopt it.”

“Really? Seems to think you belong to ‘em,” Aeryn noted as it tried to climb Thancred’s coat.

He shook the little creature off, one hand fishing in his pockets. “It’s been following me whilst here in Fanow--probably belongs to one of the hunters. Minfilia finds it amusing, at least. For gods--here!” He tossed a small red berry across the platform, watching the nutkin scamper after it.

“And you miss having one around, so go ahead and feed it regardless.”

“...I will not confirm such an accusation.”

“Sure, Waters. You take no joy in cuddling a small furry critter.”

“I could always pick up a rat instead.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“What’s the matter, Striker? The famed primal-slayer afraid of certain critters? Need to be kept safe from their nibbling?”

“Would you two _please_ stop flirting?” Emet-Selch sighed dramatically. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

They both turned to glare at the Ascian. Aeryn wondered why some men--apparently including impossibly ancient ones--assumed all friendly banter was flirting. Then again...

“...No,” Aeryn said, turning her back on Emet-Selch. “_Anyroad_, Thancred, just mind it stays out of my pack this time, would you?” She asked sweetly.

“But how else am I--it--supposed to _accidentally_ filch some of your personals and feign absolute innocence of the fact?” He responded, matching her tone.

“Ugh!” Emet-Selch walked off, rolling his eyes.

Thancred and Aeryn looked at each other and grinned. “That worked rather well,” Thancred said with a snicker.

Aeryn nodded. “We’ll have to keep that strategy in mind. But seriously: keep the nutkin out of my gear.”

“I make no promises, they have minds of their own, my lady.” He gave her a saucy wink before turning to call Minfilia and Urianger to get ready to go.

“Managed to chase off our unwelcome guest, have you?” Y’shtola asked.

“For now. He doesn’t like banter. Who knew, given his fondness for witty retorts.”

“I haven’t seen you two go back and forth like that in some time,” Y’shtola remarked, offering the canteen she had been drinking from to Aeryn.

“Well for you it’s been a few years,” Aeryn replied. She glanced at the canteen and shook her head. “You need that more than I, after your ordeal.”

“Ah, my mistake,” Y’shtola said, a dangerously amused tone to her voice. “I thought you seemed parched, but I suppose these aren’t the waters you’re thirsting for.”

It took a moment to sink in. “Y’shtola!” Aeryn hissed, feeling her face burn--and glancing around to make sure the others hadn’t heard.

Y’shtola giggled. _Giggled_. “Don’t think I have forgotten--and it _was_ nice to see you two a bit more at ease around each other again.”

“You know, I hate admitting Emet-Selch’s right, but we do have a Lightwarden to hunt down,” Aeryn grumped.

Y’shtola patted her arm. “I shall not press, nor pry, though I cannot say the same for our comrades; ‘tis not the secret it once was, you know.”

This was really the reason they couldn’t let Y’shtola take anymore dips in the Lifestream; she was in far too high spirits, practically giddy. “I did maybe say something to Alisaie...”

“I had figured as much, honestly. But who do you think _he_ confided in these last few years?” Y’shtola asked, head tilting toward where Thancred and Urianger were preparing their supplies for the journey to and through the Qitana Ravel. Thancred laughed at something Urianger said, and Aeryn felt the jolt of it from her flaming face down to her toes.

Minfilia and Runar were off to the side, playing with the nutkin, thank goodness.

Aeryn sighed heavily. “I can’t be surprised, either. And it...was nice, while it lasted.”

“Perhaps soon there shall be opportunity for an honest discussion as well as flirtatious banter,” Y’shtola said. “In the meantime, shall we finish our preparations?”

Aeryn nodded, not even bothering to try and correct Y’shtola with reminders that Aeryn did not, could not, intentionally flirt if the fate of the world depended on it.

She did have to admit though, it had been nice to have a silly conversation again--particularly with such satisfying results--with Thancred, especially after their last attempt at a conversation about...things...had not gone so well. She really hadn’t realized just how much she had missed it, and wondered if he had as well, especially with the time discrepancy.

Urianger called to her, but Aeryn only waved vaguely in response. She dared not turn their direction; her face still felt as if it were competing with the glaring skies above the canopy.

“...Hey, Y’shtola? I think I need that particular drink of water after all.”


	25. Prompt 24: Unctuous

Aeryn hovered at the edge of the Haillenarte’s party as much as she dared. She and her colleagues had been introduced to half the nobles of Ishgard by Lord Edmont, and she had socialized and had even danced with her hosts. Thank the gods Lord Francel had cut in on the last one, before that Dzemael fellow who looked like he wanted to use the time to ask questions.

She had managed to lose herself in the crowd since, but now the musicians were spinning up a new dance, and as much as she wanted to simply listen and enjoy the music, that would not last the moment someone caught her standing alone and silent.

A light breeze tickled her ear, and she glanced behind her, to see that one of the servants had opened the tall window-like doors leading to a balcony. Without much more thought, she slipped out into the chill night air, thankful the soft, green gown she wore was made as much for warmth as style.

She leaned on the balcony railing, closing her eyes as the wind played with the loose ends of her overly-styled hair. The conversations and laughter became a background murmur, though the strings and piano of the musicians came through quietly but clear, at last.

“Ah, the honored guest of House Fortemps. Enjoying yourself this evening?” An unfamiliar voice asked.

Aeryn stiffened and opened her eyes, looking to her left. An elezen man in the formal white and blue robes of the Heavens Ward strolled across the balcony towards her. He had tan skin and tan hair, a scar across his right cheek, and he smiled at her with pale-painted lips, but his _eyes_\--

She wanted to fight, or run, or both. Even without the Blessing, this man was obviously a threat of some kind.

Aeryn supposed he ought to, if he was part of the Archibishop’s personal guard. She fought down the nervous bile rising in her throat, smiling and offering him a curtsy. “It’s been lovely,” she said. She had to get back inside.

The man offered an exaggerated bow. “Ser Charibert de Leusignac, at your service.”

“Aeryn Striker,” she offered in return, then cursed herself; of course he knew who she was.

“So I hear,” he replied, looking her up and down, as any soldier would a potential opponent. “Enjoying your first noble party? Must be quite different from what you’re used to.”

On the surface, his tone was smooth, almost pandering, but there was an undercurrent she didn’t like. “I’ve been to plenty of such affairs in Ul’dah and Gridania,” she replied, trying to keep her own tone even and cool. “The main difference, really, is the weather.”

He laughed, a bit too loudly, somewhat hollow. “Ah, but your first here in Ishgard, of course! Especially considering your background.”

She felt herself stiffen. “I’m sorry?”

He smirked. “I used to be part of the Inquisition, you know, before garnering the attention of His Holiness. You gave a few of my old colleagues quite the adventure, some time back. Cleared the Haillenarte boy’s name, and uncovered a heretic in our very ranks. Impressive work, milady.”

Aeryn realized she had straightened into an almost defensive stance as he spoke, and tried to make herself relax. She had nothing to say to him--those words were all technically true, so she simply nodded.

Gods, she could almost use Alphinaud right now; while he could be obnoxious about it, he was so much better at this sort of thing than herself.

Her silence seemed to work in her favor, however; Charibert’s smile almost faltered when he realized he wasn’t getting a verbal response. “In light of such a magnificent performance, I simply had to learn more of our unexpected savior. I’d be a poor guardian for the Archbishop if I did not, especially when I heard you would be staying in our fair city, a guest of your friends in Fortemps.”

She did not like the way he said their name.

“Imagine my surprise when I learned you are, in fact, a native of Coerthas! Come home after all these years, raised from simple peasant girl to hero of the realm! Well--that part, I suppose, is up for debate in some corners.”

Aeryn let out a deep breath. He paused, still offering that affected smile. “I was very young when I left Coerthas,” she said, tone clipped. “I remember little of that time; not even which House, if any, my village had any fealty to.”

“Of course, of course,” Charibert replied, waving a dismissive hand. “And I say it not to disparage, mind; I myself, come from humble stock.”

She raised a brow.

“‘Tis true! I was an orphan of the Brume, once upon a time, until my magical talents were discovered and my place in the Supreme Sacred Tribunal of Halonic Inquisitory Doctrine secured.”

“...Congratulations,” Aeryn offered. She was rewarded with a briefly perplexed look from the man. “I should rejoin my friends, now that I’ve had some air.”

As she turned to go, he reached out and snagged her hand. “Of course; pray don’t let me keep you, though I have enjoyed the conversation, _Warrior of Light_,” he said, sweeping low again to not quite brush his lips across the back of her hand, in what seemed to her almost a mocking emulation of courtly manner.

She snatched her hand away, holding it close, as if burned. She could feel her face heat--gods, why did she have to blush so damned easily?---And stammered a farewell as she turned and hurried back into the Haillenarte’s ballroom.

Aeryn could feel those pale eyes on her back as she tried to wend her way through the crowd and break that line of sight. Not for the first time, she wondered if coming to Ishgard had really been the best idea--but then, where else could they go?

“Ah, Aeryn, there you ar--Is everything all right?” Haurchefant asked as she finally found where he was keeping an eye on young Lord Emmanellain.

She was still holding her hand close to her chest; it needed a wash, to get the oily feel of Charibert’s skin off, to perhaps stop the sensation of burning; she almost felt as if she were back in the Bowl of Embers, for some odd reason.

“Are we to a point where we can be excused yet?” She asked, speaking quickly.

Haurchefant chuckled, relaxing with no immediate threat in his own sight. “I believe so, particularly if we use my _dear_ little brother’s indiscretion to our advantage.”

The young man in question only made a confused noise, already far more inebriated than he ought to be by this point in the evening.

Aeryn nodded, and assisted Haurchefant in quietly escorting Emmanellain out of the party and back to their own manor.

She did not feel those eyes off of her until the Fortemps guard closed the door behind them.


	26. Prompt 25:Trust

Estinien stared up at the roiling clouds obscuring their target, arms crossed, a slim black-armored line against the sky.

Behind her, Alphinaud spoke into a linkpearl, making arrangements back in Ishgard. Aeryn left him to that, stepping up beside Estinien. Her eyes searched the clouds and dust for a long, black, winged form with a single burning eye--even as she knew he wouldn’t show himself.

“He’s in there,” Estinien said in a low, rough voice.

Aeryn only nodded in response. She felt it, too, through the strange connection with the Eye; his was the stronger claim to the ancient orb, but something about her Blessing, or the Echo, or both, had drawn her under the mantle of Azure Dragoon as well--even if she preferred her spells to her lance these days.

There was a subtle shift, and she could tell he was side-eyeing her through his helm. “Are you ready for this?”

“Are you?” She asked, not taking her eyes off the obfuscated Aery.

He frowned and turned his gaze away from her. “All my life.” There was a long pause. “I will not be swayed by him again.”

Now Aeryn did look up at him. “I never thought you would be.”

“After the thrashing you gave me?” He asked dryly. He harrumphed--she now knew with amusement--as she shrugged in reply. “I never have apologized for that day.”

“I’m not the one who needs to hear it,” she said, low enough the whistling wind almost snatched the words away.

He did not answer, and she did not expect him to. She could practically hear his teeth grinding, though.

“Do you trust me, Aeryn?” He finally asked.

Her dark brows drew together. “Of course, Estinien.” She left off the rest: _Why shouldn't I?_

He grunted an acknowledgment again. She mentally added it to the list she and Alphinaud had teasingly created: ‘Teach Estinien to Use His Words’. It could go right under ‘Convince Estinien to Bathe More Regularly.’

“You seem more comfortable with Iceheart at times,” he said. “A heretic and summoner of a primal.”

“Chosen of the Crystal,” Aeryn said. “She...understands things you and Alphinaud cannot. That no one else ever has--save Minfilia.”

_Where are you?_ She wondered again, her heart aching for those Scions still missing. Tataru, Urianger, and those few others who had escaped the Braves’ treachery were still looking, but Aeryn could not shake the feeling that _she_ was meant to seek out the Antecedent, the Archons, the other missing…

_After Nidhogg is stopped and Ishgard is safe_, she told herself. There would be time then.

“I suppose that prevents her from succumbing to her so-called goddess as well,” he said. “Which sets her a step above myself, and _him_.”

“I’d almost think you were jealous.”

“Hah!” He snorted. “She may wish it so.”

Aeryn shook her head. “I trust both you and Ysayle,” she said. “Just...in different ways. For different reasons. Such as ending this war.” She nodded toward the churning clouds. “We tried her way. Now...we must attempt yours.”

“As it should be,” he said, though did not sound as convinced as he might have, once. “Still; know I am fully in control, and have mastered the beast’s bloody Eye. You need not be concerned for me.”

_Halone help me_. “I know, Estinien. Have ever since that day in Steel Vigil.”

He turned his helmed head to look at her fully now. Though his face was as obscured as their quarry, his puzzlement was plain.

She smiled as she turned to check on Alphinaud’s preparations. “Haven’t you realized it yet, Ser Azure Dragoon of Ishgard? It wasn’t for _me_ that Haldrath appeared that day.”

Aeryn left him standing upon the broken battlement, a narrow black-armored line against the roiling sky, looking to his companions thoughtfully.


	27. Prompt 26: Slosh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Uses some in-game dialogue from the Scions near the end of 5.0. I just found it odd Alphinaud wasn't disturbed by the Amaurotines, even at first.))

“Look! Over there!” Thancred exclaimed as they stood marveling at the impossible city. “Is that...a person?”

Alphinaud immediately felt his skin grow cold and a rock drop into the pit of his stomach. The “person” Thancred was pointing out looked less-than-solid, a bit fuzzy around the edges, in a long black robe obscuring features.

“Ah no, my mistake.”

He wanted to say something certain Warriors of Darkness would call “snarky.”

“That’s a giant,” Thancred continued.

Well, he wasn’t wrong; the figure had to be at least four yalms tall. Perhaps taller? It was hard to tell. It was a preferable option to ghosts, at least.

For gods’ sake; he couldn’t allow himself to be so frightened by whatever shades inhabited this place.

Alisaie would never let him hear the end of it.

“It doesn’t seem to have noticed us yet,” Thancred said, looking for somewhere to get under cover before the giant did notice.

Alphinaud made a decision he was certain he would regret.

“Giant or no,” he said, hoping his voice would not break and betray his nervousness. “A resident of this place may have much and more to tell us. I say we make the first move.” Before he--or anyone else--could talk himself out of it, he began to stride toward the tall, robed figure.

“Alphinaud, you can’t just--Ugh!” He heard Alisaie behind him. She would favor a more aggressive plan of action, but this, he felt, was a better start.

He felt like what little water he had had to drink along their journey sloshed loosely in his bowels as he stopped by the giant.

“Pray excuse my boldness, but might I ask you a few questions…?”

He was not expecting the strange language, nor for the whole group to be treated as precocious children (though a petty part of him had to admit having the older Scions treated so was a _tad_ satisfying).

Y’shtola’s vision labeled the residents--for as they moved, more of the giants were obvious--as aetheric constructs, like the rest of the city.

“This aetherial Amaurot and its residents appear to be phantoms of a different age,” Urianger said. “Emet-Selch hath resurrected a memory--a moment in time from before the star was sundered.”

A city of ghosts. Of course. This adventure got worse and worse.

Alphinaud took a deep breath as they made their plans to question the residents of Amaurot.

He could do this. He had to do this. He looked at their friend, slowly shattering with excess Light. He thought of the Exarch, held by the Ascian who sought to destroy this world, bringing Calamity to their own.

Alphinaud straightened his shoulders and set off as Thancred directed to speak to some of the Amaurotines. They weren’t really ghosts, he told himself, willing his knees to stop shaking. They were memories, and their knowledge might be useful.

If Alphinaud was good at anything, it was talking. Even to phantoms--so long as he didn’t let his fear get the best of him.


	28. Prompt 27: Palaver

The trek to Fort Gohn, where Urianger said they would find Y’shtola, was a strange one given their company.

“Our conversation about bodies _does_ bring up an interesting point,” Emet-Selch said, almost idly as they passed under the boughs, after several minutes of silence. “_Did_ Lahabrea make any changes? Besides the aetheric sensitivity, I mean. I admit a morbid curiosity.”

Aeryn watched Thancred’s shoulders stiffen, _heard_ the creak of his gloves as his hands clenched. He continued stalking forward, studiously ignoring their Ascian companion.

Minfilia frowned. “Why do you try to antagonize him? All of them?” She demanded.

“He’s testing me,” Thancred said shortly before Emet-Selch could answer. “He wants to see me snap and try to attack him.”

“And you are determined to not give me the satisfaction, is that it?” Emet-Selch asked, amused.

“It’s unnecessary,” Aeryn said quietly. She barely turned her head to look at the Ascian as he turned his attention to her. “If you want to come along, fine. Want to impart knowledge, good. But there’s no call for that.”

“Isn’t there?” He asked with false blandness. “_You’re_ the one so curious about us and our capabilities, weaknesses you might exploit in later conflict. The devil’s in the details, as they say.” There was a bite in his undertone she did not like.

“We are almost arrived,” Urianger called, perhaps more loudly necessary, from his position at the front of the group. Beyond him, a break was visible in the canopy along the road, the shapes in the distance reminiscent of man-made structures rather than more woods.

Urianger paused as the others passed--Thancred practically barreling forward, Minfilia half-jogging to keep up, Emet-Selch ambling along with long-legged Garlean strides. Urianger fell into step alongside Aeryn, and she noted he slowed his own longer step even more, until they were lagging slightly behind the group.

“Do not be taken in by the Ascian’s palaver,” he said in a low tone. “They employ their own conversational tricks and obfuscations, to discern meaning and information thou doth not wish to impart.”

“Speaking from experience?” She asked, regretting it immediately.

It took a beat for him to answer. “Aye, my lady,” he said, even quieter. “Whilst Emet-Selch takes on a mocking, even antagonistic tone--expecting like from ourselves--others of his ilk employ more subtle methods.”

“You mean Elidibus acting friendly while trying to gain your loyalty, back when he brought Ardbert and the others to the Source.”

That might have been preferable to getting beaten by the Emissary while he wore Zenos’ body like a suit, now that she thought about it. Far more insidious, though.

Urianger nodded. “Verily; and it will not be surprising, I think, once we hath become accustomed to Emet-Selch’s presence in our midst, for his own conversation to seem merely playful, his information valuable truth for which there is no other source. He shall seem friendly, and honest--”

“And then strike like the viper he is,” she finished. She smiled up at Urianger. “I’ll keep it in mind, rest assured.”

He smiled in return, then looked up as Thancred called to him.

“Should the Fort look like that?” Minfilia asked. “Where are the people supposed to be living?”

Aeryn frowned as she and Urianger sped up to join the others again. The time for idle chatter was over; the place they were meant to find Y’shtola was a burnt ruin, an ominous start to their hunt for Rak’tika’s Lightwarden--and their absent companion.


	29. Prompt 28: Attune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((_This got much longer than expected. I blame DadCat. This really leans on my ideas on shuffling the timeline of Job quests and MSQ events for Aeryn’s story_))

The rafters shook from the force of the winds outside, but the Church of Saint Adama Landama was sturdier than it appeared, holding against the sandstorm as it had so many others.

Even if it was a bit creaky.

“Glad we got those new window panes in and the shutters repaired,” X’rhun said from the pew where he lounged, his extravagant hat pulled over his eyes. “We can all stay snug--and far less sandy--in here until the storm passes.”

Aeryn didn’t respond; if she had nodded he obviously couldn’t tell with his eyes covered, and so he reached a gloved hand up to pull his hat just far enough aside to look at the young hyur woman, in the next pew--turned so these back rows faced one another, for visitors to wait to see the priest. She was watching one of the shuttered windows, a faraway look on her face.

X’rhun sat up, swinging his legs back to the floor, the thump of his boots striking the wood not even getting a twitch from her, though it had been audible enough for Father Iliud and Marques across the sanctuary to look up briefly, before returning to their own holy work. X’rhun leaned forward, contemplating Aeryn. He knew someone lost in memories when he saw one, and this young lady was in danger of getting mired in her own thoughts.

X’rhun cleared his throat and pitched his voice low, but a tad sharper than necessary. “Aeryn? Feeling all right?”

She did start this time, blinking as if waking, realizing where--and when--she was. She focused in on X’rhun quickly and gave him a smile and a nod.

He relaxed and returned the smile. “We haven’t much else to do at the moment; care to share what’s so occupied your thoughts?”

As if he didn’t know--still, he and the old priest had been trying to get the naturally quiet girl to open up, even a little, after what she had been through.

She seemed to consider his request, clearing her throat and wetting her lips with the last bit of water in her cup. “The first time I came to this part of Thanalan, there was a sandstorm then, too. I was traveling with one of the archons--Thancred. We hid in an abandoned house he knew of, had used before. Just us and our chocobos, and naught to do but talk. Spoke more that evening than I had in awhile--I get the feeling he did, too, in a way.” She stopped, looked to say more, but then simply shrugged.

“Was that when you killed Ifrit?” X’rhun asked.

Aeryn looked at him. “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” she said. “We came to Drybone to investigate the kidnappings, and found amalj’aa involvement. We feared one of the sisters here might be working with them, but were able to clear her--it was a merchant from Ul’dah. He led a unit of Flames and myself into an ambush, in those ruins up the road.”

She paused again, looking down to pick at a loose thread on the edge of her jacket.

“Whereupon they drug you to the Bowl of Embers, domain of the Lord of the Inferno, and you won your fame by taking down the primal single-handed,” Xrhun said, repeating the tale told with varying degrees of exaggeration in taverns across Thanalan.

Aeryn’s frown deepened as she kept studying the stray strand. “Do you know what happens to those the primal tempers?” She asked, whispering.

“I...No, actually,” he replied. He sometimes wondered, and there were rumors, but it had never been information he had need to pursue.

“There’s no cure,” she whispered. He had to strain to hear her. “No way to reverse it. The primals can’t temper me--the Echo protects me. Everyone else--the merchant, the Flame soldiers, the amalj’aa--became Ifrit’s puppets. No other thought in their heads but him.”

A shiver ran through X’rhun. “Dear gods,” he whispered back.

She looked at him, mist gathered in her grey eyes. “They will work tirelessly to resummon their deity,” she told him. “So, with grief and regret, they are executed. In secret. I didn’t know, until Thancred told me, after--he had been delayed, so wasn’t caught in the ambush. Came with more Flames, and we escaped, but it was too late for the unit I was with.”

“And it is kept secret to prevent panic,” X’rhun said, woodenly. There was the old, righteous rage rising in his breast and making his tail puff, but he fought it down. Such thoughtless passions belonged to younger men, and had caused him enough trouble in his youth when giving in to them.

Making himself stay objective now, he was able to note a curious thing: Aeryn had neither refuted nor confirmed the stories of her battle with Ifrit, let alone boasted of it--her concern was entirely for those souls lost to the Inferno.

It tracked with her rushing to rescue that girl, and her surprise at his willingness to share the reward, when Aeryn had arrived too late to do aught but help escort the child back to her family.

“And the storm put you in mind of all this?” He asked.

She nodded. “I remembered the storm where Thancred and I talked, and then the investigations, and then the Bowl of Embers, and after.”

And here he had been afraid she was reliving her battle with Titan and what had come after _that_\--the sisters had told him of the state of the Scions’ bodies, and he had even seen a few for himself, as they were cleaned, wrapped, and buried in the communal graves. They had deserved better, but the number of dead and the heat had dictated necessity.

“I still don’t know where Thancred is. Where any of the living Scions are, _if_ they’re still alive, and I feel...useless, sitting here. I don’t know where to go, or what to do, but there must be _something_,” Aeryn said, the words coming in a sudden quiet deluge. Her nails had pulled the thread entirely, ripping a line in the fabric. “The ones that were taken could be in any of the Castrums scattered through the realm, or as dead as our colleagues I had to bury. The ones who weren’t taken I don’t know if _they_ know to come here, but it’s been days already and no one’s come, and the linkpearls are just static.”

There it was. X’rhun reached over and put a hand on hers, stopping the violent pull of thread. She froze for a moment, then seemed to go boneless, shoulders slumping, head down, loose black hair obscuring her face, but she was likely blushing. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“Naught to apologize for,” he assured her, giving her hand a squeeze. She was struggling to maintain her composure; he felt the trembling through her slim form. “I’m actually quite glad you’ve expressed your frustration.” She did not look at him fully, but her puzzlement was evident. He smiled. “You tend to be quiet, keeping things rather close to your chest. But there are times a body just must express all it feels. There’s nothing wrong with that, my girl.”

Iliud was ushering Marques and Ourcen out of the sanctuary, leaving only X’rhun and Aeryn and the howling winds outside. The door to the priests’ living quarters clicked shut.

X’rhun kept his hand on hers and counted in his head. He was not quite to two minutes when she asked, shakily, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” He kept his voice as gentle as possible. Not what he expected, but it was a start.

“I haven’t known you long,” she said. “But you’re one of the genuinely _kindest_ souls I’ve ever met. You help people and enjoy the simple, bright things in life, and smile--and I know it’s despite so much pain, carried in you like a weight…”

He wondered about that; Aeryn knew he was Ala Mhigan, had fought in the rebellion and attempted resistance, but her phrasing made him take a note for later examination.

“Some days I cannot smile,” he admitted. “That weight is so much. But I do what I’ve done since the beginning: let myself feel it, know it’s a part of me--and, combined with those simple, bright pleasures in life--know it’s why I have to keep fighting. I might have to take a break now and again, but I can’t give up. Not when there’s still so much to see and do. So many to help along the way.” He studied her for a moment. “I believe you know similar about yourself already as well--even if you don’t yet realize it.”

Silence took over again, the wind rattling the shutters and he really was glad he and Marques had managed to get those extra nails and boards up before the weather turned. After another almost two minutes her trembling became full shakes, and she let out a rough, choked sound of anger as she finally allowed herself to cry.

He sat with her, holding her hand, as her anger and grief were spent--for now. The emotions would return, bubbling up from the deep well of her soul and threaten to overwhelm her again. Unless, of course, she had a better way to direct it.

X’rhun gave her time, lent her a lace-edged handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Before he could say anything more, however, she lifted her head and spoke. “In the Coffer and Coffin, you asked if I wanted to learn red magic,” she said.

“And you said you would think about it.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, when not--” She took a breath, already far more steady than previous ones had been. “Anyroad, before coming to Eorzea, I couldn’t really...do magic. Something wrong with my aetheric balance. But in Gridania, when I told E-Sumi-Yan that, he looked at me strangely and said my aether seemed fine. Y’shtola said the same, upon examining me. And then there’s this…” She held in her hand a pale green soul crystal. Focusing on it, he had the sensation of a sunny forest meadow, filled with the sweet melodies of flutes and harps and lilting voices.

“I’ve seen you with a bow, and have been bolstered by your Songs,” he said. “That certainly is its own kind of magic.”

Aeryn closed her fingers over the crystal, carefully returning it to her belt pouch. “I’ve always wanted to be a mage--I was going to help my brother, magic alongside his weapons. Life turned out differently than we had expected.”

“It always does,” he said, and was pleased to see her small smile.

“You really think I could learn the ways of the Red?”

“One more question, if you’ll indulge me,” X’rhun asked. Once she nodded her assent, he continued. “You’re rightfully angry about what happened at the Waking Sands. What will you do when you find the Garleans responsible?”

Aeryn frowned, black brows drawing together in thought. “I...suppose it will depend.”

“On?”

“On her,” she said. “The tribunus in charge.” Aeryn scowled at the memory, then took another calming breath before continuing. “What she says, does, when we meet. I expect it will come to blows regardless.”

“You want justice for the ones killed, hurt, taken?”

“Of course!”

“Do you want her to suffer for the pain she caused?”

Aeryn took her time answering. “Maybe? I’m not sure if that’s really true, though. It wouldn’t bring back the dead, or lessen the suffering of those she harmed. She just has to be stopped. Logically, that’s best done quickly. I just...don’t know how logical I would be if--_when_ I meet her.”

X’rhun smiled. “An honest answer. The calling of a Crimson Duelist includes lessening pain and suffering, not adding to it--yet, we are also a calling of passion, and as fallible as any mortal in letting our emotions take the lead over our minds. Which is why I called you a kindred spirit, and offered you the mantle of the Red.”

Aeryn only looked at him, her grey eyes clear and curious.

X’rhun held a red, tear-shaped crystal in his palm. “I offered this before, and that still stands; we will journey together, and you will learn what I have to teach, building off the foundations inscribed upon this stone by generations of brother and sister duelists. If this path--and it is not an easy one, make no mistake--is the one you wish to travel, then take it.”

Aeryn did not move right away, but it was not hesitance he sensed from her, looking at the red gem gleaming against his black glove. After a moment, she simply took the soul crystal, cupping it in both of her own bare hands and holding it close to her chest as she attuned to the whispered secrets of mages of eld.

He felt an aetheric shift, and thought for a moment he saw a flash of red in her eyes. He blinked, and all was normal. How odd. Perhaps it was the late hour, the wine he had drunk earlier, and the ceaseless wind outside.

“A host of red mages committed their memories to this gem. And now it is yours,” X’rhun said. “Tomorrow, we shall begin your training. For now, I believe it’s time we both retired--assuming one can sleep through this godless wind!”

Aeryn smiled, taking his gentlemanly offer of a hand up as they both stood. They made their way to the common room where mourners, supplicants, travelers, and other visitors could bed down during their stay at the lichyard.

As he settled into his own bedroll, contemplating the shadows of the ceiling beams above in the dark, listening to the few others in the room as they breathed and shifted in slumber, X’rhun couldn’t help but grin.

A student, and a talented one at that. Her skills would make things decidedly easier, but he sent a quiet prayer of thanks to the gods that she had the heart of the hero she was already shaping up to be, if her prior exploits were any indication.

And, perhaps, he could help her learn a few things about dealing with the less pleasant side of being a hero, the pain and anger--gods knew he understood well enough, and had seen that request, too, in her gaze. It wasn’t only magic lessons she looked to him for.

A consideration for the morrow; for now, the wind was finally dying down.

X’rhun tipped his extravagant hat down over his eyes and dozed off.


	30. Prompt 29: Trust II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((Captain Lyna, Second Person PoV for some reason, perhaps 2 lines of dialogue lifted from early _Shadowbringers_. Extra Credit Chapter.))

At 0500 get up, brush hair, brush teeth, wash face, get dressed in lighter gear. By 0515 be out the door headed for the training yard. Grab a cup of coffee and skim reports and listen to the laughably-labeled night watch, find out who is sick or injured, any incidents while you slept.

From 0530 to 0700 is the time for physical fitness and training. Yesterday was cardio and endurance, today it is strength and flexibility. Every day involves weapons training. Keep a reflexive eye on the newest recruits, most of them green refugees from smaller settlements wiped out by the ever-encroaching sin eaters, settlements too far away to save, even if not for the risk of turning your own soldiers. Note a young viis recently arrived from the depths of the Greatwood, a girl trying a little too hard to prove herself, that she has not made a mistake in abandoning her ancestral home and duties.

Wonder, not for the first time, what that is like, having never known the Wood--or had been too young to remember, if your parents had left after your birth, before their deaths.

Signal an experienced galdjent sergeant with a similar preference in weapons to oversee the girl. You cannot afford a child’s stubborn pride.

By 0730 you are showered, in armor, and on a second cup of coffee as you take more time over the reports. Make decisions on guard rotations, leave requests, sign off on supply orders and requests to the Mean after giving them a critical review and asking plenty of questions. It is a long morning. You drink two more cups of coffee, but probably should have stopped before the last one.

1100 comes around and you take your turn on watch. It’s important to continue to do even the basic duties alongside your troops. Besides, there are not nearly enough of them for officers to not handle those duties on top of all else there is to do. You’re used to taking lunch later, if you grab any grub at all.

It is 1110 when you see her walk out of the woods along the road, looking around like a lost doe. You don’t recognize her, and you know all the Crystarium residents, all the regular peddlers and traders, all the soldier families. You have to; shared tragedies have etched them all into your bones.

“Halt,” you call as she approaches, surprised by your presence, utterly distracted by her surroundings. “Every face in this city I know. Yours I do not. This is the threshold of the Crystarium, stranger, and I am its gatekeeper. If you would enter, you will answer my questions.”

Her responses seem puzzled, or glib. What reason could there be to conceal from whence she came? Perhaps she is a spy from Eulmore; if so, a poor one--

_Sin Eater!_ Move without thought, decades of training taking over. It’s young, or weak, or both, and so falls quickly. It must have been stalking the stranger, and she was so distracted by her surroundings she never noticed.

She seems bothered by the trinket it dropped, signifying its last meal.

The sound of familiar, swift footsteps make your ears twitch. Much as you wish to smile, you are on duty and must remain professional.

Ah. One of his strange friends from far away. Nevermind there are no other lands beyond the bounds of the Floodwall. The Exarch has always kept his secrets. Watch him lead the woman into the perimeter, headed for the city. His stride is different, almost...giddy? Perhaps it is simply imagination; he has always behaved strangely when one of his odd countrymen appear out of thin air.

It certainly explains her strange answers. She must be as learned but as ignorant of Norvrandt as the rest of them had been.

At 1600 you are still wondering about the newest arrival. The guards inside the city say the Exarch took the newcomer on a tour, let her explore on her own, meet people, and even did something with that one pesky pixie that hangs about. But now the new guest is resting, and it is time for your afternoon report.

He listens attentively as always. “Very well, Captain. Is there aught else?”

You hesitate. “This newest...countryman that arrived today. Is there anything I ought to know?”

He ponders that for a moment, then shakes his head. “Not as of yet, but I am hopeful her presence shall finally put paid my long work. Speaking of my countrymen,” he continues, before another question can be asked. “Have we any word of Thancred and Minfilia’s current whereabouts? Our new arrival is certain to ask, when I inform her of the others.”

So she _is_ their companion as well. “No, my lord. He has not checked in for some time, nor have there been any recent sightings. I will inform you the moment I hear word.”

“Thank you, Captain. I believe that is all for today, then.”

Salute, begin to turn.

“Lyna…”

“Yes?” Pause, look back at him. Wonder again when he had become so small, when he once seemed to tower as tall as the crystal spire itself.

“Do you trust me?”

What an odd question. “Of course.” He is not speaking as Lord to Captain. “I know there is much you do not--cannot tell me. I know there must be reasons.” Ask the question you want the answer to. The moment may not come again. “Do _you_ trust _me_?”

Caught him off guard. That happens more often than it used to. He smiles, though, and pulls back his hood--not the Exarch, but Grandfather, with his ruby eyes and white-streaked hair. “With my life, and the lives of our people,” he replies. “Which is why I ask you to keep these secrets for me a little longer--and know that the ones I keep from you are for good reason, my dear.”

Take a breath. Nod. “Very well then.” Turn to go, but pause again. “...One more question, my lord.”

“Of course, Captain.” He replaces his hood.

“Will any more of your countrymen be arriving in the next year or so?”

He laughs, shakes his head. “No, Captain, I believe this is the last we shall see--and all we need.”

The knowledge that Norvrandt may not _have_ another year hangs heavy between you, unsaid. There is no need. That is one secret which he has entrusted to you in a rare moment of despair, and you swore you would never repeat it.

* * *

The days are less routine, now that she has arrived.

It is not an immediate thing, as she leaves for Ahm Araeng and Kholusia, bringing the twins back to the Crystarium. The elven youths are grieving and angry over what they experienced whilst on their missions; you are not sure yet if that is a good thing, but there is no time.

Holminster is under attack by a large number of eaters. The town may be lost, but the sinless cannot be allowed to sweep further south and into Lakeland proper.

You fight the panic when the Exarch takes the field himself. It is not the first time, but you cannot help be afraid--not for your lord, master of the Crystal Tower--but for Grandfather.

“Trust me, Captain,” he says again, a hint of a devil’s smile on his broad lips. His smiles too have changed, since his countrymen began arriving, five years past. As if he were a younger man, or at least remembering what that was like.

When the Lightwarden falls, you expect the worst--you _know_ how this is supposed to work, and as much as you like the twins and even this newcomer, you will sacrifice them in a heartbeat to save him--

And then the newcomer does the impossible.

You stand under the sunless sea. There are _stars_, just like in the stories he used to tell you as an orphaned child.

The Exarch is keeping secrets again. Things he said to the Warrior of Darkness, to the twins, all odd, all nonsense--things to ask about later.

He asks you to keep secrets again.

“As you wish, my lord. Your penchant for mystery is nothing new, and I will encourage folk not to question this either.” Your answer is automatic and proper. “...Although I expect to be told the whole truth of it one day. About all of you.” You stare at him, at the ruby eyes you know lay under the hood. He smiles.

There is a strange feeling that he does not expect to tell you all--that there may not be opportunity. Especially not once, as Alphinaud fears, Eulmore learns what happened here today.

_Tonight_. The walk back to the Crystarium is under an endless glittering trail of diamonds against a black so deep it seems impossible.

He keeps his secrets, as do his friends. Part of you fears the answers to them.

But looking up, tears burning your eyes, hearing the joyous songs and prayers of your people, despite the change and the hardship you know will come, they have earned that requested trust.


	31. Prompt 30: Darkness

It was a funny thing to remember, that she used to be afraid of the dark.

A typical child’s fear; the sign of an active imagination responding to strange noises and familiar shapes altered by shadows into something new and frightening.

There had been comfort too, though, in a parent or sibling’s embrace, the solid line of their presence alongside her, quiet stories and whispered reassurances.

Eventually, the fear subsided, replaced with its own sense of safety in different ways from the day. Darkness was a time of blankets and warm drinks and firesides and close camaraderie.

Then she became a Bringer of Light, a beacon set against a darkness far deeper and more frightening than any she had known in childhood, and some of that early, primal fear returned. The shadows walked, wearing cloaks and masks, stealing friends and wreaking havoc.

She learned the monsters in the dark were real, and it was her job to fight them.

_“Light, Dark, it doesn’t matter. What matters is how you choose to use them.”_

She had wanted to listen, truly, but the Light was her identity, who and what she was; how could she hope to use, let alone understand, the Dark?

The words had tickled the back of her mind for many moons, through the horrors of Baelsar’s Wall, the initial push into Gyr Abania, the flight across the sea to broken Yanxia, the battles on the Steppe, the liberation of two nations a world apart. The shadows kept to themselves for much of it, a whispered background threat she would have to face again someday, but for the moment, she was what everyone expected her to be: the Weapon of Light.

She should, perhaps, have paid more attention to the darkness within herself. Not that it didn’t try to tell her, warn her--comfort her. It was too much to admit that she clung to her flames, because the rest of the abyss still frightened her.

One never knows what one will find in the darkness, until it is suddenly there, a confrontation that cannot be avoided.

She felt slow for not comprehending until she was drawn to the First, to seek her flames. Caught under a blazing sky with nowhere to hide, all laid bare, always, and the tattered remnant of a world needing help. She couldn’t refuse--and after that first breaking of the Light, the sky dark and shadows deep, the tears in people’s eyes and wonder in their voices, she didn’t want to refuse.

She finally understood. If anything, her enemy’s corruption of the dark became apparent, and all the more galling.

The excess of Light broke the excess of Dark. Balance returned to the First, to the Source. Darkness itself, so long missing from the world, became a time of strange noises and familiar shapes made into something new. A time of fireside storytimes with blankets and warm drinks.

Of a solid presence alongside her, murmuring a question as she returned to the bed, quieting with her whispered reassurance, a comforting arm pulling her close.

The sunless sea glimmered over Norvrandt. Safe, the Warriors of Darkness slept.


End file.
